


Ineligible for Rehire

by damnfancyscotch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Artist Derek Hale, Artist!Derek, Based on a Tumblr Post, Complete, Derek is a grumpy gills, F/M, Happy Ending, Human Cora Hale, Human Derek Hale, M/M, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles, Stiles is a Little Shit, Tumblr Prompt, because they're both kinda assholes, but they love eachother, but they're also oblivious assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-07 11:38:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3172810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damnfancyscotch/pseuds/damnfancyscotch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski is annoying as fuck and kind of an asshole – not a complete prick, but not exactly getting awards for his overwhelming kindness either. </p><p>Back in Beacon Hills the summer before his graduate program starts, he needs money to fix his Jeep – an exorbitant amount because the mechanic hates him – and really he cannot ask his dad for money – he’s almost 22 and he has a damn degree, it’s just sad – so that means Stiles… sigh! Stiles needs a job.</p><p>While on a job search, he doesn't expect to meet someone who has even worse people skills than him. He certainly doesn't expect to start working for the asshole either.</p><p>But damn did Derek Hale grow up nice...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Pathetic Job History of One Stiles Stilinski

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a tumblr post by captain-snark (link below).
> 
> Just a little multi-chapter drabble. Something I'm piddling around with while I'm working on the updates for Fucked Up Like You and Hallowed Grounds.
> 
> Enjoy sweet babies! <3

~ based on [this post](http://captain-snark.tumblr.com/post/99410258848/imma-need-sterek-au-fic-where-stiles-gets-fired) by captain-snark ~

Stiles Stilinski is annoying as fuck and kind of an asshole – not a complete prick, but not exactly getting awards for his overwhelming kindness either.

 He has no brain-to-mouth filter, he laughs when people fall down (he helps them up _while_ he’s laughing – it’s not _that_ bad), he can’t sit still to save his goddamn life, he’s a sarcastic little shit, he likes to pull pranks, and he just honestly can’t stand how dumb or cruel or frustrating people are. So he’s a little misanthropic, but it’s not that bad. He can charm his way out of or into most things if necessary.

 The worst thing about him, though, is that he’s been fired from every job he’s had since he was sixteen. Mostly, his old bosses would say, because he lacks customer services skills. Stiles would say that it’s because people are fucking idiots and he can’t deal with their bullshit.

 Stiles’ work history is as follows:

  _The Sandwich Shop_

 Finally, a way to pay for gas and video games and junk food and movies and hey, maybe save up a little for something nice – he had plans. The job was simple: make sandwiches. Boom. Done. Stiles had this in the bag. It was a little hard to bite down on the sarcastic responses to stupid questions – it’s a fucking sandwich, what the fuck? What is so complicated about it?

 His dad had stopped by on his second day to buy a sandwich and “support his son” but Stiles knew it was because his dad could order whatever he wanted and Stiles couldn’t say anything. “The customer is always _riiight_.” His dad practically sang as he pointed at the bacon. Stiles finished his dad’s sandwich narrow-eyed and flat-lipped, his gaze promising trouble when he got home.

 Everything was going smoothly until he was there for almost a month. There was a regular who was a veritable nightmare named Lawrence. Every employee hated him. He was a menace: always pushing for extra toppings at no charge, smiling while giving verbal jabs to rile them up so he could get discounts – and seriously, the most complicated fucking sandwich order _EVER_.

 And Stiles did his best not to be an ass, he really _really_ did. He always bit his tongue and ignored the comments, though Lawrence was getting increasingly good at picking at whatever bothered Stiles most at that current time.

 That day, Stiles had overslept, missed the first half of his Biology test, been told he’d have to take it after school the next day, spilled his lunch, shut his shoelace in the door and kept walking (which resulted with his face getting reacquainted with its old friend the floor), and almost knocked Lydia Martin face-first into the table for the cross country team’s bake sale when he ran by on his way to work. All in all, shitty day, right?

 So, of course, that would be the shift when _fucking Lawrence_ came in.

 All it took was a little smirk, Lawrence opening his big stupid mouth to admonish him for not using enough mayonnaise while saying it must have been his upbringing that led to his inability to listen and didn’t his mother teach him to be nice to people and Lawrence lived in Beacon Hills and he knew _he knew_ _motherfucker knew what happened to his mom and_ – Stiles snapped.

 Reaching into the first container he could, Stiles launched to contents into Lawrence’s face. Baloney, it turns out, can stick pretty well and it clung to Lawrence’s gaping expression.

 “How fucking _dare_ you! You know what, _Lawrence_? You are a fucking terrible person and everyone fucking hates serving you! You suck!” Stiles swiped the half-finished sandwich into the trash and threw his hands up in the air. “Also, you fucking reek! Take a shower or invest in some damn deodorant!”

 Lawrence’s face had turned bright red before he began shouting back and the manager was drawn out of the office by the sound.

 “What is going on here?” He demanded, hands on his hips. Stiles turned to explain himself and saw the sly look slide over Lawrence’s face.

 “Mr. Geller, your employee is out of control. He threw bologna at my face and started yelling at me about my sandwich preferences. I really hope this isn’t the usual way that your other customers are treated.” His voice was oily and made Stiles’ skin crawl.

 Stiles snorted; he knew how this was going to end for him and thought _fuck it_. “Yeah, that’s right. I threw baloney at him because I’m a terrible employee and not because he’s a giant fucknugget who smells like rotten baboon ass.” He smiled at his manager. “I’m gonna assume I’m fired?”

 Brandon sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Yeah, Stiles, that’s safe to assume.”

 “Awesome.” He turned back to Lawrence and flicked him off. “Enjoy your sandwich.” Stiles walked to the back and waited until Brandon was done and walked around the corner, sighing.

 “Stiles, look-”

 “Nah, nah, I get it. _The customer is always right_.” He pulled his hat off and tossed it and his apron onto the desk. Next came the poly-blend polo shirt. Stiles pulled his t-shirt down and plucked his book bag off of one of the hooks by the door. “Thanks for the job.”

 “You’ll get your last check in the mail.”

 Stiles nodded then left, hopping into the Jeep and peeling out of the parking lot, though he was only going 5 over in case any of the police happened to be around to add a ticket on top of his already shit-tastic day. He pulled into his driveway, slumped into the house, groaned all the way up the stairs, and flopped face-first onto his bed. He let himself wallow for five minutes before he flipped over and sighed.

 Well, easy come, easy go.

 His dad was proud of him for standing up for himself. His dad was also more than a little critical of his methods of fighting back. “Baloney, Stiles, really?” But in the end, he clasped Stiles on the shoulder, shook him a little and smiled warmly.

  _Bentley’s_

 After his 17th birthday, he began his job as a busboy, food runner, cashier, and sometimes server at Bentley’s. The manager, Sarah, had been sympathetic to Stiles’ need for a job and she’d known them since Stiles was 4 so she cut him a break.

 Not that it mattered, apparently, because that job didn’t work out either.

 Erica Reyes had always been quiet and, in high school society, not very interesting. But Stiles knew she was smart and a little shy, sure, but she had a quick sense of humor and had a sweet, if slightly evil, laugh from having her as a partner in Home Economics first semester of sophomore year. (They’d both passed with Bs because they couldn’t stop sabotaging the other groups’ flour-bag babies. So worth it for the look on Jackson’s face when his flour bag exploded in his face.) The most recent summer had been incredibly kind to her in the looks department and puberty hit her like a truck. Gone was the mousy girl in the giant hoodies – in her place strutted a long-legged perfectly-curled-blonde-haired vixen with red lips twisted in a wicked smile. She even made the burger joint uniform look good, which was no small feat, with the old-school diner dress/apron combo and non-slip shoes.

 Stiles’ first day, he greeted Erica with a hug and a flippant comment about how frumpy she looked, got a pop to the back of the head, and a smacking kiss that left a perfect lipstick mark right on his left cheekbone. He left it there and worked his entire shift while sending flirtatious winks at anyone whose eyes lingered on the mark.

 As a busboy, he didn’t have to speak to any customers and as a food runner, he only _barely_ had to deal with them. Everything went well for a couple weeks and then there was a big football tournament that brought several teams from out of town. Since Bentley’s was the best burger place in town, most of the teams ended up eating there at one point or another. Stiles was running around like crazy trying to take care of the customers at the bar, cash out tickets, run food, and help out the other servers at the same time.

 “Erica, table 14 is waving at you.” He informed her as they stood shoulder to shoulder in the window, waiting for their food.

 She sighed, blowing a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Table 14 is filled with asshats from the next county over and they can hold their goddamn horses because I have been over there _eleven_ times in the past minute. They all need something but can’t ask for it at the same time. Pretty sure they’re just trying to get me to lean over the table. Ugh.” She rolled her eyes. “If one of them tries to touch my ass, I’m gonna feed them their cleats.”

 Stiles squeezed her shoulder in silent reassurance and grabbed his fries, sliding them in front of Doctor Harvey, his dad’s cardiologist. He leveled the doctor with his hardest stare, his tone firm. “These are on me if you keep me updated on how my dad’s looking heart-wise, Doc.”

 He chuckled and squirted ketchup on one end of his plate. “Now, now, Stiles, you know I can’t tell you anything. Doctor-Patient confidentiality.” He leaned forward and winked. “And confidentially, your dad needs to stay away from high sodium foods.”

 Stiles winked back. “Got it. Thanks, Doc.”

 Table 14 finally finished eating and one of the guys sauntered up to the register with his ticket in hand. He cleared his throat impatiently as Stiles refilled Mrs. Elliot’s coffee cup and Stiles leveled a glare at the dude before finishing what he was doing and meandering over.

 “Everything good?” He asked grudgingly as he took the ticket and rang up the meals, not really giving a shit if the hulking cretin enjoyed the food or not.

 “Fine.” The guy grunted.

 “Your total is $146.27 – how would you like to pay for that?” He drawled. The guy held out a credit card and Stiles could see it was a team credit card. “Great. If you could sign this copy and this one here is yours.” He turned and picked up a plate of onion rings from the window and put it down in front of one of his customers before turning back to the register. He grabbed the receipt and glanced down at the tip line in confusion. That was a ridiculously large amount to tip, unless… “Your phone number?” He asked dryly, one of his eyebrows rising.

 The guy grinned and shrugged. “Yeah. Pass it along to the hot blonde.” His friends laughed behind him.

 Stiles glanced at their mostly clean table and saw not a single bit of money on its surface. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Glancing back at the group of guys laughing and joking about how great an idea it had been to leave his number that way was a bad idea. Stiles crumpled the receipt in his hand and slapped his other down on the counter.

 “What the fuck is your problem, dude?” He snapped, voice loud.

 Most of the patrons jumped and looked at him in surprise but the big guy just glared at him. “What?”

 He raised his voice even louder. “You think that leaving a phone number as a tip on an almost hundred and fifty dollar check when you’re paying with a team card anyway is acceptable? You think that’s _funny_? What is wrong with you?” He shook his head. “You can go to hell dude.” He crossed his arms and glared right back at the guy.

 Skin flushing red around his neck, the guy stepped forward and reached out to grab Stiles by the neck strap of his apron. Twisting, suddenly realizing how bad of an idea it was to stand up physically to someone three times his size with very little counter space between them, Stiles stepped on a fallen fork and skidded left, elbow flying and hitting the jerk in the nose, hard. Stiles hit the ground and felt his hip throb.

 Jeez, try to stand up for someone and end up falling on his ass. Great, just great. _This_ was precisely why he didn’t do this shit.

 Erica crouched next to him to help him up while the guy was roaring about his face, his face. Yeah, his stupid ugly Neanderthal face! Erica snickered and Stiles, _whoops_ , had said that last part out loud and oh well. She wrapped him in a quick hug when he was on his feet again and he patted the top of her head.

 Suddenly, an even larger guy appeared and started demanding some answers as to why his team captain slash quarterback was sporting what was probably a broken nose and at least one black eye the night before the play-offs and oh shit, this was bad this was bad this was sooo bad.

 “Uh…” Stiles gurgled before Sarah appeared and shot him a look.

 She calmed the situation down, got the coach to hand Erica exactly 15% of the check, and then turned to Stiles with a sad expression after the group walked out the door. Stiles, despite only having been fired once, recognized the expression immediately and sighed, nodding. He finished taking care of the rest of his customers, closed out his tickets, and cashed out.

 Sarah patted him on the head, handed him his tips for the night and his pay for the week. “You and your dad still come by and see me sometime, okay?”

 “Sure thing, Sarah. See you later.” He waved a little and turned to leave.

 Erica waited for him at the front door, wrapped in her coat with her bag over her shoulder. She clasped her hands under her chin and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Well if it isn’t my brave hero, coming just in time to walk me home.”

 He scoffed and walked out the door without holding it open for her. She laughed at him as he started walking without her and she jogged to catch up, slinging her arm into his.

 “It could’ve been worse, you know.” She said after a moment, breath just slightly fogging the air as it started to get cold.

 He rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I could’ve knocked the baskets out of the fryer and scarred him for life. Or broken his leg. Or blown up the building.” He muttered darkly.

 “You’re really not a bad guy, Stiles. You just have a tendency to say things a certain way that _really_ pisses people off if they don’t know you that well.” She patted his hand.

 “Gee thanks. I hated having to deal with customers all the time so I’m not heart broken or anything.” He sighed. “I just really don’t like looking like a fuck up.”

 “Hey.” He looked over at her. “You aren’t a fuck up. The physical maiming was accidental – plus he totally started that – and you were just being a good person and calling him on his bullshit.”

 “Good person.” He laughed. “I got fired for being a _good person_. Food service is so fucked up.” Stiles shook his head. “At least I’m not getting arrested for assault. Yay!”

 Erica laughed. “Could be worse.” He glanced over at her. She raised her eyebrows and looked at him in semi-serious horror. “You could be working retail.”

 He laughed, long and hard, even though it wasn’t that funny, and she started laughing too, leaning against the side of her front porch until her mom came outside and asked if they were okay.

  _So Many Other Terrible Jobs_

 His next job was at a shoe store. He had jinxed himself, really. He got fired from that one for telling someone he did not and would not help them try on shoes and, quite frankly, their feet smelled from where he was at the counter and he couldn’t imagine the stench from six inches away. That one lasted two weeks.

 The next job, the grocery store where he told a woman to get off her damn phone and look where she was going when she ran his hand over with her shopping cart while he was on his hands and knees cleaning up a display of applesauce that some damn idiot had knocked over and not told anyone about. Fired after three weeks.

 Another restaurant, a barbecue joint this time. Fired after three days for telling someone that just because it was all you can eat that doesn’t mean that you can get a to-go box which was somehow construed as him saying the man was overweight which he did _not_ say, thank you very much. Didn’t matter – still fired.

 After a certain point, because Stiles was naturally blessed with what he would like to call an impish and curious nature even though others called it destructive and slightly evil, it almost became fun to see how long he could last at certain jobs when he stopped even attempting to be nice.

 The rest of the jobs he had in high school were never for more than a few days and really, it was a miracle he kept getting hired in the first place, though he supposed some of that may have come from his dad being the sheriff. And really – football player aside – he wasn’t hurting anyone. It was all pretty harmless and he was going to college in a different town anyway so what did it really matter?


	2. Blame It On Scott McCall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter yay!

Some people didn’t seem to mind Stiles’ (at times) acerbic charm, like Erica and a couple other people from high school and most of the people he met in college. They realized he wasn’t all bad after getting to know him a little better.

 Scott McCall, though, always had his back. That could be because Scott is an actual puppy – sweet, quick to anger but just as quick to forgive, eager, loyal, kind – but Stiles likes to think it’s because no one has a bond like Scott and Stiles have a bond. They are brothers, in all but marriage – since they’d become blood brothers when they were 9 and cut their palms and stuck them together then cried until Melissa had found them and bandaged them up while smiling. Anyway, brotp. End all, be all. 100%. 5-ever.

  _Buuuutttt…_ Scott’s spending the summer at an internship program at Zoo Atlanta, helping with the giant pandas and assisting the research team working on the reproduction study.

  _The door to his bedroom slammed open so hard it bounced back off the wall and almost nailed Scott in the face. Stiles sat up so fast he nearly fell of the bed. “What the hell dude?”_

_“I am so excited! They’re pregnant, Stiles, both of them at the same time!” Scott made a sound that was barely human and flailed his arms around._

_“Uh, what? Who’s pregnant?” No answer, just more high-pitched squeals of what Stiles assumed was joy while he wriggled in place. “Scott, buddy, I’m gonna need you to use your words. Did you get two girls pregnant, man? That’s pretty serious.”_

_“No Stiles! The pandas! The pandas I’m gonna be working with at the zoo! They’re both pregnant. That like,_ never _happens. I get to see so many baby pandas!! I am_ so excited _! Oh my god, oh my god, oh uh, I can’t, I can’t breathe…”_

 The corresponding asthma attack was over quickly and Scott sat on Stiles’ bed and resumed talking about how excited he was to learn all about the pandas – even though he could have done it much closer at the San Diego Zoo, but Stiles wasn’t about to hold his bro back from anything. He’d clapped him on the shoulder and wished him the best. Because Stiles is the best bro anyone could ever want.

 Even if it means it’s the first summer since he was 8 that he’s spent alone.

  _Meeehhh_ … 

No! Stiles is a grown ass man with a degree and a give-em-hell attitude – his is not going to feel sorry for himself. He can handle a summer at home without Scott. He has sooo got this. He can do anything! The possibilities are endless and every new day is an opportunity for adventure and mystery and life! He’s gonna seize the day! Carpe some freaking diem!

 He’s totally carpe-ing some diem and heading to the store for snacks to gorge on while watching movies on his laptop in bed when the Jeep lurches forward, grinds, jerks, then shudders to a stop outside of the video store. When slamming his head against the steering wheel doesn’t fix anything, Stiles climbs out of the car, pops the hood, and immediately gets a face full of smoke. He can fix his Jeep’s minor issues but this…

 Calling the mechanic and getting him to tow the Jeep to his shop is an exercise in frustration since the guy, Kevin or something, used to go to school with him and yeah, Stiles may have accidentally dropped an entire bowl of pho on him while the guy was on a date and ahhh… yes, it will be _at least_ $3600 to fix the problem and _oh, yes_ , there are _a lot_ of complications yada yada yada _fuck_.

 Stiles doesn’t have much more than that in his bank account and what he does have needs to last until his student loans come in for his grad program and that’s about 3 months away. Shit. He’s perched on the bench by the front door and kicking his legs as he waits for his dad to come pick him up from the garage.

 Jesus. He is twenty-two and waiting on his dad to pick him up. What a freaking joke. He rubs his face with his hands.

 His dad is slightly sympathetic so he doesn’t full on laugh when he pulls up and sees Stiles sulking on the bench but he does grin and his shoulders shake.

 “You are a terrible person.” Stiles grumbles as he climbs in the front seat of the car and crosses his arms.

 “Ah, don’t be that way.” His dad teases, patting his knee as he pulls away toward the station. “It could be worse. You just need to get a job.”

 “A job… _a job!_ ” Stiles throws his arms up and wails. “I’m supposed to be past the ‘Summer job’ phase. I’m about to start my graduate program. I’m getting my Master’s degree – this isn’t supposed to be how it goes.” He drops his arms and pouts, _hard_.

 His dad shakes his head, glancing skyward for strength. “Stiles, you’re being dramatic. It’s fine. Everyone has to do something. And look at it this way: you’ll have some extra money for when you start your grad program. Plus you need to get out this summer. I know you’re sulking because Scott isn’t here.”

 Stiles snorts, lying through his teeth when he states, “I am perfectly capable of having a productive summer without Scott.”

 “You two have a codependent relationship. I sometimes wonder if it’s unhealthy.” John shoots back.

 “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t,” is Stiles’ _totally mature_ reply.

 John sighs. “Look, maybe you could file some papers at the station, run some errands for us.”

 “A job at the station?” Stiles narrows his eyes as he thinks about it.

 “Sure. Nepotism at its best.” They share a laugh and John continues, “But really, it’ll be good for you to get out of the house. And it’ll be great working with you, kid.”

 Stiles is sure his dad recalls those words exactly as he opens the door to the supply closet a week and a half later and finds Stiles sitting on a table with his legs wrapped around Deputy Parrish’s waist, hands buried in his hair as they make out. John clears his throat and Stiles pulls back with a grin, unlike Parrish who turns the most delightful shade of red upon seeing his boss.

 John sighs, rubs his eyes and points at Parrish. “You, back to your desk. I know you have that B&E report from last night to get back to me.”

 Parrish nods then flees, leaving Stiles leaning back on the table with a grin as he calls, “Later, Jordan!”

 John’s face gets stern. “You, my office. Now.”

  _Uh oh._ “Are you grounding me or firing me?” Stiles ponders as he slouches in the chair in front of his father’s desk.

 “Stiles, you aren’t supposed to be working today.” John is trying desperately not to laugh and also yell and his voice shakes a little at the end with the effort.

 “I know. I brought you lunch but you weren’t in your office.” He waved a hand at the salad with tofu, large green apple, and bottled water placed in the exact center of the Sheriff desk. “So I decided to walk around. Ran into Parrish when he was getting staples and, well…” He held out his hands and smirked at his dad’s sour expression.

 John’s sigh holds every ounce of exasperation he can put it in. “I need you to quit.”

 Stiles sits up straight, confused. “Wait, what? Seriously, this isn’t a big deal. I won’t do it again.”

 “Stiles, either you quit or I’m going to have to write you up for Sexual Misconduct in the workplace.”

 “Dad, that’s a _little_ overkill, don’t you think?” Stiles can feel that easy 36 hundred dollars slipping through his fingers. “I mean, it wasn’t that bad.”

 John throws his hands up in frustration. “Parrish was on duty, Stiles.”

 “Yeah, _love_ duty, ya feel me daddy-o.” Stiles fires finger-guns at his dad who gives him another unamused look.

 “Please just get out.”

 Stiles can tell he’s not gonna win this one. Plus he really doesn’t want to screw anything up for his dad. “Okay,” he mumbles, getting up and heading towards the door.

 “Stiles.” 

“Yeah?” He asks hopefully.

 “I’ll be working til late. Don’t wait up.” John pulls the top off the salad container and frowns down at the contents before deciding on taking a big bite of the apple.

 “Yes Sir.” He salutes jauntily and leaves, wiggling his fingers at Parrish as he passes by. Parrish turns red again and jumps from his seat to the break room.

 Sandra gives Stiles a questioning eyebrow raise and he chuckles, shrugging. “He must need coffee really badly all of a sudden.” She smirks at him and shoos him towards the door.

 His cheeky expression lasts all of five minutes as he heads home, stuck on his bicycle from when he was fifteen. As he huffs his way towards the house, he curses his inability not to screw up and wonders how he’ll ever manage to keep a job after he gets his Masters if this is how things pan out.

 He tosses his bike on the grass by the porch instead of putting it away like an adult and muddles his way into the house, up the stairs, and into his room. Flinging himself down on the bed and pulling out his phone to text Scott is something his body does without him even thinking about it.

  ** _moi_** ** _:_** ** _Hey bud you free?_** Stiles hesitates, not wanting to bug Scott while he’s off living the dream with pregnant pandas then decides to press send. If he’s busy, he won’t answer. If he isn’t, Stiles has someone to complain to. His phone vibrates seconds later.

  ** _scottyboy_** ** _:_** ** _Yeah man! Always free for you bro. What’s up?_**

**_moi_ _:_** **_Not much just feeling crappy_ **

**_moi:_ ** **_Got fired_ **

**_moi: Again_ **

**_moi: Not that thats new_ **

**_moi: B_ ** **_eing fired by my dad is whats so bad_ **

  ** _scottyboy:_** ** _Dude! Get on Skype!_**

 Stiles pulls his laptop from the floor and opens it, logging into Skype while still lying mostly face down in dejection.

  _McCallMeMabye is calling…_

Stiles clicks on the icon and waits as Scott’s image pops up. He’s gotten tanner and his hair –

 “Dude, you cut your _hair_!” Stiles blurts out, shocked out of his fugue by his suddenly-shorn best bud.

 Scott laughs and runs his hand over his black hair. “Do you like it? It was just too hot working in the sun all day.”

 Stiles gives Scott a winky expression. “Looks good, Scotty. Must have all the ladies going ga-ga.”

 Scott’s expression goes gooey and he drops his eyes to the side. “Well… there is this girl…”

 “I knew it!” Stiles crows, rolling onto his back and throwing his hands into the air. “Who is she? Is she into you?” He shoots up, grabbing the laptop and looking closely at Scott’s sheepish expression. “Oh ho ho! You’re already a thing, aren’t you?”

 “Stiles! Quit!” Scott waves his hands at the screen and glances over his shoulder. “We’re not like super serious yet but I like her a lot and I don’t want to her get freaked out.”

 Stiles leers at him. “Worried that she’ll hear me? Is she there?”

 “I will mute you, don’t think I won’t.” Scott warns but he gets up, walking somewhere else and shutting a door behind him.

 “Are… are you in the bathroom?” Stiles leans forward and recognizes the shower curtain with pandas on it that Stiles had gotten him as a gag-gift for graduation.

 “She won’t be able to hear you being ridiculous if I’m in here.” Scott shrugged and perched on the edge of the bathtub.

 “Don’t you think they’ll find it strange that you’re talking to someone in the bathroom, dude?”

 Scott shrugged again and smiled. “They already think I’m weird, dude. I don’t really care. Plus I need to brush my teeth anyways.”

 “You’re a good man, Scott McCall.” Stiles points and shoots him a thumbs up.

 Scott grins and waves him away. “I know, I know. So what’s this about getting fired again? And I thought working for your dad was gonna be easy enough?”

 Stiles sighs, flopping back down onto the bed. “It was totally my fault this time. I decided to make out with Parrish and Dad said I had to quit or he’d have to write me up for ‘Sexual Misconduct’ if I didn’t.”

 “Well,” Scott says brightly through a mouth full of toothpaste, “it sounds to me like you weren’t _actually_ fired…”

 Stiles glares at him. “Uh huh.”

 Scott spits and points his toothbrush at him. “And _Parrish,_ like wow, really?”

 “I know! It wasn’t like it was gonna go any further.”

 Scott, bless him, doesn’t call him on his lie and just nods and rinses his mouth. “It could always be worse, dude.”

 “Yeah.” Stiles grumbles. “I just hate this.” He presses his pillow to his face for a moment and then puts it behind his head. “Ugh, enough about me and this shit. Tell me how you are. What have you been doing? Who is this girl you’re seeing?”

 Scott got gooey-faced again. “Her name is Cora.” He sighed happily.

 Stiles laughs. “Tell me about her, man. Who is she? Does she work at the zoo?”

 “No, she’s a student too but she’s here studying the wolves. She just finished up college in New York but she’s from Beacon Hills, dude. It’s like it was meant to be.” Scott’s eyes go dreamy.

 Stiles snaps his fingers in front of the camera. “Scott, buddy, focus. She’s from Beacon Hills – what’s her last name?”

 “Hale.” Scott waves his hand. “She’s our age but she didn’t go to school with us because she was homeschooled. Well I mean…” Scott frowns, trailing off and making a face to convey something bad had happened.

 It clicks for him. “ _Hale_ – dude, like, lost all her family members in a fire Hale?” Stiles whispers, not wanting Cora to overhear him since she probably _is_ in the house with Scott.

 Scott nods. “Yeah, everyone except her older brother. She mentioned that he lives back home now.” He squints, clearly trying to remember something. “He owns a book shop or something? I don’t remember. Hold on.” Scott lifts the laptop and exits the bathroom.

 Stiles enjoys a distorted trip down the hall of Scott’s apartment as his friend trots to his room and opens the door, placing the computer down on his desk. He turns to the very pretty brunette lounging on the bed and reading a book. She smiles up at Scott, pulling one of her earbuds out and looks over at the computer, smiling at Stiles too. She looks slightly familiar, like he’d probably seen her when they were younger at least a few times.

 “Cora, this is Stiles. Stiles, Cora.” Scott says, waving between the two of them and perching next to Cora on the bed.

 “Hey. Scott’s told me a lot about you.” Cora’s voice is smooth and low and Stiles can see part of why Scott is enamored with her – long smooth hair, big brown eyes, a bright smile.

 Stiles smiles and waves. “Hey, it’s nice to meet you. Scott’s told me about you too. Also, everything he’s said about me – he’s a liar, a huge, giant liar.”

 Cora laughs, a surprised burst of sound. “I think he was honest about a few things.” She shoots Scott an adoring smile and Stiles knows that his friend is done for.

 Scott’s cheeks get slightly darker and he grins. “Anyways, I was talking to Stiles about your brother. What is it that he does again?”

 “Derek?” Cora looks confused but answers, “He bought that old building downtown – do you remember? The one on the corner of Boulevard and Main?” Scott and Stiles both nod. “Yeah, he renovated it last year and uses the upstairs for his art studio. I told him he should actually use the downstairs for something so he opened a bookstore.”

 “Yeah, he paints. He’s pretty good.”

 “That’s cool.” Stiles snaps his fingers, remembering. “Wait, the corner of Boulevard and Main… wasn’t it a record shop when we were really little?”

 Scott nods and adds, “Then it was that weird organic ice cream parlor!”

 Cora laughs and makes a disgusted face. “Do you remember the wheatgrass and earthworm sundaes?” Both boys shudder and make similar faces. “I dared Derek to eat one once and he did – won ten dollars from me – but it tasted so bad that he walked outside and threw up all over the sidewalk.”

 The three of them share a laugh and Stiles feels something slide into place. He likes Cora so far and he _knows_ Scott likes her. Hopefully she’s good for his best friend.

 Speaking of his best friend, Scott sits up and looks at his cell phone. “Crap, Cora, we gotta go. The barbeque starts at four.”

 She looks at the time on her own phone and groans. “I totally lost track of time.” She stands then ducks back to look at Stiles. “It was nice talking to you Stiles. Hopefully we can all hang out when we get back home.”

 Stiles nods. “Sounds great. It was nice talking to you too, Cora. Have fun at the B. B. Q.” She waves and leaves the room. He wiggles his eyebrows at Scott. “Well, she’s certainly very pretty, Scott, and she doesn’t seem to have a problem with our epic love which is good or I’d have to kill her.”

 Scott rolls his eyes. “You’re ridiculous. Quit threatening my girlfriend.”

 “ _Girlfriend_ is it? My my my Scotty! Is it _officially_ official?” He teases loudly.

 Scott looks flustered and he waves his hands at the screen. “Stiles! Shut up! Not so loud. I uh… I gotta go! Bye man! Good luck with getting another gig!” He closes the laptop and the call disconnects.

 Stiles chuckles and lays back, folding his hands on his chest and staring at the ceiling, feeling accomplished in his quest to embarrass his bestie. He even feels better about the job thing, though it’s still a sour spike in his otherwise good mood.

 He decides to play video games til he passes out and falls asleep at his desk in front of his computer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scott & Stiles BROTP 5-EVER


	3. Those Sweet Murder Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huzzah! Chapter 3!

Hitting the streets the following day, the old-fashioned way since most of the places in Beacon Hills didn’t believe in online applications apparently, Stiles hums and strolls along, mentally ticking off the places around town he could work. Stepping up to the crosswalk, he weighs his options, shifting from foot to foot. He could go straight and try to hit up the shops down that way, though it was only the craft store and the fancy wine shop. He could go see Erica, he supposes. He glances diagonally across the street towards the corner of Boulevard and Main and squints.

 The only place in Beacon Hills he hasn’t applied to is the bookstore. After talking to Cora, Stiles is incredibly curious and is drawn over after the light changes. Derek Hale had certainly developed the slightly run-down brick building into a homey little shop. Now lined with long dark shelves with colorful books filling up the entire front space of the building, it looks very enticing.

 Figuring he doesn’t have much to lose and maybe he can mention that he spoke to Cora, he enters the shop and looks around but no one is up front. He bops the tiny bell he sees on the corner of the counter and his eyes scan over the canvases hung above the shelves and he feels his mouth drop. He walks around the building, peering at the paintings. Wolves seem to make up most of them, an interest both the Hales share, evidently. Stiles doesn’t know much about art but the attention to detail in every one of them is impressive. He can’t really reach the paintings but his fingers twitch with the urge to touch.

 The slamming of a door behind him makes him jump so violently he’s glad he wasn’t touching a painting – he would have punched a hole straight through it. He whips around and has to remember to breathe for a second.

 Because Derek Hale does _not_ look like how Stiles remembered him while brushing his teeth this morning. He remembered a teenager who wasn’t unattractive but definitely had some growing to do to fit his ears and his large bunny teeth. Recognizing the eyes, Stiles knows that it’s Derek Hale standing in front of him and scowling but Derek is now broad of shoulder and long of leg and has definitely grown into his ears and teeth and has spots of paint on his muscled arms and large hands and _oh god look at that stubble_ …

 Stiles finally drags in a breath and croaks out, “Hey.”

 Derek quirks an eyebrow at him and says nothing.

 “I was just admiring the art. It’s very pretty, er… nice. It’s very _nice_ art, not that I know much about art. But I can see that you’re very talented. The best I can draw is stick figures. I mean, they’re really cool stick figures so I mean, not a total loss. But these, these are great paintings… Uh, I’m Stiles by the way.” He swallows a nervous laugh and shoves his hands in his pockets. _Oh god shut up!_

 Derek stares at him before grunting, “And?”

 “Oh! I was wondering if you were looking for some help around the bookshop becau-”

 “No.”

  _Oh okay so just… no_. Stiles nods rapidly and waves his hand. “Oh, yeah, it’s cool. Uh, I’m also here to, uh, I’m just gonna…” He points towards the shelves where he can loiter for a little bit before he escapes, not willing to let Derek think that he scared him off, despite how _scary_ Derek actually turned out to be, and the fact that his _is_ planning on escaping as soon as he can.

 He rounds the shelf in the farthest corner and collides with someone holding a large stack of books, knocking most of them to the floor. “Oh fuck, I’m sorry. Shit.” He drops to his knees and starts stacking the books.

 “Stilinski?”

 Stiles’ head snaps up and he blinks up at – “Isaac?” The other man grins and Stiles laughs, standing with the books neatly stacked. “Lahey, dude, I haven’t seen you in years. How the hell are you?”

 Isaac shrugs and accepts the stack of books. “Pretty good.” He smirks. “I see that you’re still as graceful as always.”

 Stiles laughs. “Well I see you’re still as vain as always.” He gestures to Isaac’s styled blonde curls and lightweight scarf.

 Isaac rolls his eyes and smiles. “Home for the summer?” Isaac starts to put the books back on the shelves next to where they’re standing.

 “Yeah. Job hunting, unfortunately.” Isaac makes a sympathetic noise. “Do you work here or something?”

 Isaac laughs and shakes his head. “Definitely not. I work at the coffee shop.”

 “Oh yeah? I was just about to head over there.”

 “Thank god I’m off today.” Isaac smirks as Stiles makes a face. “I was just using some of these for a book I’m working on.”

 “You’re a writer?” Stiles asks, impressed.

 Isaac shrugs, blushing a little. “Yeah. Hopefully I’ll get published when I’m done writing…” He shrugs again, clearly uncomfortable.

 Stiles takes pity on him and nods, clapping him gently on the upper arm. “I’m sure it’ll be great dude. I can’t wait to read it. In fact, I’m gonna need an autographed copy for when you get super famous so I can sell it to the highest bidder.”

 Isaac snorts and shakes his head. “Classy as always, Stiles.”

 “Yeah, yeah, pretty boy.” Stiles glances around the edge of the shelf and sees Derek behind the counter with his back turned. “Alright, I’m out.” He holds his fist out.

 Isaac gives him a withering look but bumps his fist to Stiles’. “You’re so _mature_ , Stiles.”

 Stiles flips him off with a cheeky grin as he slips out the door and turns right, about to turn the corner toward the coffee shop. He glances over just before the windows end, looking quickly away as his eyes land on Derek who is _staring_ at him with _murder eyes_. _What the hell?_

 When he reaches the coffee shop, Stiles has to laugh at the depiction of a snarling Goldilocks and three massive bears on the sign with the blocky, storybook script spelling out _Goldie’s_. He throws open the door and startles the couple at the table closest to him. They stare and glare as he strides inside with his arms in the air, heading towards the counter.

 Erica stands there, arms crossed over her chest and scowling at him, though amusement dances in her eyes. “Are you trying to break my coffee shop, Stiles?”

 “Oh my beautiful goddess,” he croons as he scoops her into his arms and swings her around, “how I’ve missed your dulcet tones!”

 She pinches his ear. “Put me down, you idiot!”

 He does but darts back in and kisses her cheek. “I have _missed_ you so much.” He confesses quietly and hugs her firmly.

 She sighs and squeezes him back before pulling back and tweaking his nose. “I missed you too, dufus. Let me get a drink and we can chat upstairs.” She steps behind the bar and pats a dark-skinned man on the shoulder with a smile. “Boyd, can you cover for me while I catch up with Stiles?”

 Boyd, who is quite large and could squish Stiles like a _bug_ , shoots Stiles a look but nods. “Sure, Erica.” His tone is smooth but Stiles can tell Boyd did _not_ like Stiles kissing Erica. _Interesting_.

 “Do you want anything, Stiles?” Erica starts frothing milk in a silver pitcher.

 “God yes. Vanilla latte. Extra shot.”

 Erica snorts. “Do you _really_ need the extra shot?” She still puts the extra shot in there and hands Stiles a large mug, jerking her head toward the back of the shop. “Follow me.”

 “‘ _Will you come into my parlor’ said the spider to the fly_.” Stiles intones earning a laugh from Erica as she leads him up the winding stairs and into a beautiful office with a wide window seat looking out into the main part of downtown and a tidy desk with shelves stacked with supplies. Everything is old and has the touch of “cool” that such spaces possess. “ _‘Tis the prettiest little parlor that you ever did spy_.’”

 Erica looks around and smiles. “So you like it?”

 “It’s great ‘Rica.” He steps up to the window and smiles at the window boxes. “Do you live up here too?”

 She points to the door in the corner. “Yeah. Wanna see?”

 He nods, following her over. “I can’t believe you live in a loft above a coffee shop. A coffee shop you _own_.”

 Erica shrugs and smiles, taking a seat at her table and motioning for Stiles to join her. “It is a little strange. I never would have imagined it.” She looks out the large windows that show the edge of the brick building next door and the sky. “But I’m happy. Isn’t that funny?” She asks, rolling her eyes.

 He laughs. “Aw, you poor thing! You’re happy. What are we to do?”

 She kicks his shin gently. “So what are you up to? You’re on Summer break, right?”

 He groans and tells her everything that had happened so far, unloading about the Jeep and also slipping in the bit about running into Isaac, which led to talking about Cora Hale and visiting Derek Hale’s shop.

 Erica waits until he was finished before she shakes her head and pats his hand. “You _are_ a drama queen, Stiles; your dad is right.” He lets out a squawk of indignation and she laughs. “Just be glad Derek didn’t hire you.”

 “Why? Is he a serial killer? I knew it!” Stiles wiggles his fingers at his face. “It’s the eyebrows.”

 Erica rolls her eyes. “No, dummy, he’s normal. He’s just a complete and total prick. He hates _everyone_ ,” she reaches out and runs her hand over his hair, “unlike you, what with only hating _most_ people. The only reason people even buy anything at his shop is because his selection is extensive and his art is fantastic.”

 Stiles snorts. “Well, he probably would’ve fired me anyways then.” He grins at her. “A part of me just wants to hang around his shop to annoy him now, though.”

 “Of course you do.” She laughs and glances at her watch. “I have to do inventory and go pick up supplies for the week. Wanna come with?”

 He goes along, mostly because he loves Erica, but also because he has nothing better to do. While he’s waiting to help Erica load up her car, he gets a text from Scott.

  ** _scottyboy: Hey bro! Any luck on the job front?_**

  ** _moi: Nah went by the bookshop and coras brother was very much not looking to hire anyone_**

**_moi: Also dude is kinda scary_ **

A minute or two passes before Scott texts back. ** _scottyboy: That sucks. :/ I told Cora and she just said that he’s not really a people person._**

**_scottyboy: She also apologizes for him and his poor social skills._ **

**** **_moi: Its cool man Im not worried about it_ **

**_moi: Ill find something soon I guess_ **

**_moi: And tell her shes still cool in my book_ **

**** **_scottyboy: Word. Just wanted to check up on you._ **

A genuine smile takes Stiles’ lips. ** _moi: Thanks man youre the best_**

**** **_scottyboy: We’re bros man, it’s what I’m here for._ **

**_scottyboy: Also, Cora says that she’s really glad you two are still good, otherwise her heart might have broken and she would die a slow and painful death due to heartache. :P_ **

**** **_moi: Dude your girlfriend is perfect keep her forever_ **

**** **_scottyboy: Haha I’ll keep that in mind._ **

**_scottyboy: I’ll talk to you later. Love you man._ **

 Stiles sends him a heart-eyed emoji and slips his phone back into his pocket as Erica returns from the back with a guy pulling a cart behind him. They load her car and head back to the coffee shop. Getting the supplies inside is easy as Erica and Stiles take one load in each and Boyd follows them back out, picking up the remainder of whatever they don’t get on the second trip.

 After putting all the stuff on the back counters for the employees to put away, Stiles leans next to Erica in the back hallway.

 “So, are you and Boyd?” He smirks at her.

 She clicks her tongue at him and narrows her eyes. “Are we what?”

 His smirk grows larger. “Are you a _thing_? An item? Going steady? Or just screwing like bunnies? Because – oof!”

 She smirks back at him as he rubs his abdomen where she’d punched him. “We aren’t anything and if we were, it wouldn’t be your business.”

 He holds up his other hand in surrender, wincing. “Alright. Pardon my curiosity!” He smiles then, dropping the teasing tone. “He _does_ like you, you know.”

 She sighs, the tops of her cheeks pinking slightly. “I know. I just… he’s an _employee_ and it doesn’t seem right. Plus he’s a good guy and, I dunno, Stiles, you know me. I’m not really a nice person.”

 He steps forward and rests his hands on her shoulders, kisses her forehead. “I know. That’s probably why we like each other so much.”

 She chuckles. “Why was I expecting a pep talk? Something sweet and uplifting about how I _can be_ a nice person if I give him a chance to show me how?”

 Stiles scoffs. “Puh- _lease_. I know you know me better than that.”

 “I do.” She kisses his cheek and swats him playfully on the ass. “I gotta go do work. Come and have dinner with me soon.”

 He salutes her and saunters towards the door. “Ma’am, yes Ma’am.” The saucy wink he levels at Boyd on his way out earns him a glare and he laughs as he heads back to the library where he left his bike locked up.


	4. Asshole With A Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah gahd life is getting in the way of my fanfiction! I'm so sorry! HG should be updated in a couple hours and tomorrow/maybe the day after FULY should be getting its finale *fingers crossed* 
> 
> I'M SORRY! LOVE ME!

Two days later, he’s running his second pass along Main Street and intending to visit Erica to give her a terribly sweaty but amazing hug. He starts to slow down as he nears the end of the street and has to stop at the light, waiting and still popping from foot to foot in place to keep his heart rate up. He smiles at the two women there who smile back for a moment before their expressions slip and they turn to each other and start whispering. Confused, Stiles glances over his shoulder and understands.

Derek Hale is coming towards him. Or perhaps stalking towards him. Stomping? He’s clearly in a foul mood and Stiles is slightly tempted to fling himself into oncoming traffic and also tempted to fling himself onto Derek and… _whoa no stop that!_

He stops jogging in place and just stands there, breathing a little heavy and dripping sweat, blinking at Derek as he gets closer.

Derek stops about four feet away, looking frustrated and his mouth twists before he lets out an angry sigh. “Stiles.” He finally grunts.

“Whoa, dude, that looked like it was seriously difficult for you.” Stiles quips before he can shut himself up.

Derek’s eyebrows shoot up before they drop down in another frown. “Come inside.” He growls and turns around, walking into his shop and closing the door, not waiting for Stiles.

Stiles stands there for a moment, confused, before turning to the two women who still stood nearby. “Think I should go in? Kinda seems like he wants to kill me, right?”

The shorter of the two laughs. “Honey, if you don’t go inside, I will.”

Her taller friend swats her. “Caroline.” She scolds and the two of them smile at Stiles as the light changes and they start across the road. “Go for it!” She calls back at him.

He shoots her a thumbs up and strolls into the bookshop. The cool air hits him like a slap in the face and he lets out a slow breath, skin itching as his sweat turns icy. He glances over and sees that there isn’t anyone else in the store and notices Derek lurking at the counter, scowling at the cash register.

Stiles steps closer but stays out of grabbing range – _better safe than sorry_ he hears his dad’s voice in his head. He’s not assuming Derek’s going to hurt him but the guy looks seriously pissed.

“So…” Stiles prompts after a few moments of silence.

Derek’s eyes flick up to him then back down. “Still want a job?” His tone implies that Stiles should probably say _No_ but he really does need a job.

“Yeah.”

Derek looks at him again and nods, once. Stiles pulls the fabric of his shirt away from his stomach and Derek’s gaze drops back down to the desk. “Fine. You start tomorrow.” His tone’s lost some of the venom.

“Cool. What time?”

“Whatever time. I don’t care.” Derek walks to the back and doesn’t come back out, though he doesn’t hear the door slam. Stiles decides to leave, feeling a little weird.

Okay, _a lot_ weird.

He heads down Boulevard and starts jogging again, intent on working up a little more sweat. When he reaches _Goldie’s_ and sweeps Erica into a hug that has her shrieking, he cackles and lets her slap his chest and shoulders before letting go of her.

“You are a fucking asshole.” She seethes as she pats her face and neck with a cloth that a snickering Isaac passes to her.

“Yeah but I’m an asshole with a job!” He crows, throwing his arms in the air and dancing in a circle.

“What? Yay!” She throws her arms up too. “That’s awesome. Where at? I’m assuming it’s somewhere good since you seem happy.”

“Well it’s at the book shop. Which, by the way, actually has a name, right? Because up to this point, I’ve just been calling it,” Stiles makes air quotations, “‘the bookshop’ or ‘Serial Killer McGee’s Bookstore of Terror’.” He levels a grin at Erica but it slips a little when he notices that she’s just staring back at him. “Erica?”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s called _The Nook_. And I’m happy for you. I’m just really shocked that he hired you. I mean… most people find you annoying as fuck, Stiles.”

He huffs out a breath as Isaac laughs behind them while making a caramel macchiato for an exhausted looking woman. “Jesus, Erica, tell me how you really feel.”

“Oh shut up. You know I’m right and that I love you.” She waves her hand at his face. “But, seriously, Derek Hale hates –”

 _“Everyone._ Yeah, I get it.” He shrugs, joy slightly diminished. “He’s the one who approached me and asked if I wanted to work there.”

She shifts forward, crooking her finger at him. “Tell me everything.” When he finishes, her only reaction is, “Huh.”

“That’s it?” He frowns at his friend who just smiles and shakes her head.

“You’ve always had the strangest luck, Stiles. Sometimes I wonder if you have a guardian angel with a sick sense of humor.”

He grins at her. “You and me both, sweets. I’ve gotta run. See you later.” Erica waves two fingers at him. He waves to Isaac, who simpers back, as he heads out the door.

He has a missed call from his dad and two new texts when he checks his phone after slowing to a walk a couple of houses over from his.

His dad’s text is the usual: **_Working late. Talk to you tomorrow. Love you kid._**

Stiles replies with **_K_** because he knows it drives his dad nuts and opens Scott’s text.

**_scottyboy: Hey man. How’s your day going?_ **

**_moi: Arent you supposed to be working_ **

Stiles doesn’t get an answer until he’s out of the shower and pulling on some clean clothes. He only gets slightly tangled in his shirt when he hears his text alert.

**_scottyboy: I am working. Just wanted to check in._ **

**_moi: Scott mccall… you are a beautiful friend and I dont know what id do without you_ **   
**_moi: And im fine_ **   
**_moi: Got a job today_ **   
**_moi: Wooooooo!!!!_ **

**_scottyboy: Hell yeah! That’s freaking awesome!_ **   
**_scottyboy: Where at?_ **

**_moi: The Nook_ **   
**_moi: Which is derek hales bookstore btw_ **

**_scottyboy: Dude, Derek offered you a job?_ **

**_moi: Yeah its gonna be cool working there. I basically just get to read all day_ **

**_scottyboy: I just told Cora and she said she’s happy for you._ **   
**_scottyboy: She also wanted me to tell you to please not kill her brother when he inevitably says something that pisses you off._ **

**_moi: Dude what is it with people telling me stuff like that_ **   
**_moi: She and erica have both made it seem like im going into battle_ **

**_scottyboy: Bro, from what Cora told me, you might actually BE going into battle…_ **

**_moi: Pssh im not worried about it_ **   
**_moi: Its a job thats all that matters_ **   
**_moi: Itll be fine_ **

\-----

Stiles wakes up, showers, eats, pops by _Goldie’s_ , and slides into _The Nook_ at a quarter after eleven with his latte in hand. Derek quirks an eyebrow at him and motions him around the counter.

“You know how to use a cash register?” Derek scratches lightly at the back of his neck where he’s got a stripe of cerulean paint dried half on his skin and half on his shirt.

“Yep.” Stiles exaggerates the “p” on the end and enjoys how Derek’s eye twitches as he leans against the counter and slurps his drink noisily.

“Price list is here.” He points to a neatly typed up and color coded list. “No sales, no discounts.”

“What you say, goes, Boss.”

Derek’s eye twitches again. “If someone wants a painting, page me.” He motions to a button installed on the lip of wood under the register. “Your schedule is whenever you’re able so just tell me when you need to leave.”

Stiles is a little stunned by how easy it all seems. “Okay… is that it?” Derek blinks at him for a moment before he nods. “Cool.” Derek snorts and disappears behind the shelves towards the corner door. It slams and Stiles sighs.

He sits behind the counter and swings back on forth on the spinning stool for a full fifteen minutes, just looking around and messing with stuff on the desk, before he’s bored. He thinks it may be a record. He gets up and strolls through the shelves, pleased to find that Erica was right – the selection is extensive. He grabs a new book by one of his favorite authors and laments the lack of a comfy chair as he settles onto the backless stool.

His first day is uneventful. He deals with a couple dozen customers who must be used to less than friendly treatment because his snarky replies to, in his opinion, stupid questions only garner him the slightest of reactions and everyone leaves with something. Half the customers so far seem less than pleased to see him too, obviously intent on leering at Derek, so he doesn’t even try to be nice to them.

Around five as he lays half on top of the counter, tracing the lines of dying sunlight against the wood, he wonders how no one has stolen from the shop before with Derek seemingly being away from the counter doing his art and no one minding the desk and only a door chime to notify him. After a while, he decides that he’d rather chew off his fingers than try to steal from Derek and figures everyone else feels the same way.

A few more customers come in after that. At nine, as per the hours posted next to the door, he flips the Open sign over and locks the door. He isn’t sure if he’s supposed to do anything else so he just takes bits and pieces from what he’s learned over the years and makes up his own end of the night tasks.

He counts the money in the drawer and scribbles the total on a sticky note that he leaves on the top of the machine. He then grabs a slightly squished duster and runs up and down the shelves as fast as he can, seeing if he can actually dust them all well without having to stop. Upon completion, he throws his arms in the air and does a victory dance complete with air guitar solo.

He grabs his phone, makes sure he has his house keys, then pages Derek who emerges from the back of the store covered in spots of white and purple like he’d been splatter painting.

“I’m gonna head out.” Stiles jerks his thumb towards the door. “Didn’t know how to lock up or whatever.”

Derek looks at him, then at the register with the sticky note on top, then to the darkening windows. “I didn’t realize what time it was.” He murmurs then frowns at Stiles. “Have you been here all day?”

Starting to question Derek’s sanity, Stiles nods. “Yeah man. Since this morning. You know, you were there – you gave me the inspiring pep talk about how to run the front desk and then disappeared in a cloud of mystery and smoke to paint your masterpieces.”

Derek snorts but doesn’t comment on Stiles’ flippant remarks, only says, “You didn’t eat lunch.”

Stiles shrugs. “I wasn’t super hungry. Besides, I didn’t wanna interrupt your creative process.”

Casting his eyes to the ceiling, Derek sighs then opens the register, taking out some cash and folding it in half before handing it to Stiles. “I don’t have the paperwork for taxes. I can get them tomorrow or you can take out your own taxes.”

Pleased that he’d gotten a reaction from his nonsense and intrigued by the size of the stack of money, Stiles just shrugs then winces and rubs his neck. Slumping over the counter on that stool had done a number on him. “Yeah, I can take it out myself. You’ll give me a 1099?”

Derek nods and follows Stiles to the door, holding it open for a moment before he mumbles, “What’s wrong with your neck?”

Stiles just looks at him for a moment before smiling, confused that he even seems to care. “Uh, the stool behind the counter, it doesn’t have a back so I was kinda leaning over the whole day. Messed with my neck. No big.” He declines to mention that it probably wouldn’t hurt so bad if he hadn’t been practically laying on the counter. He shoves the money in his pocket, takes out his keys, and waves to Derek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Derek grunts and closes the door, flicking the lock and turning off the lights. Stiles sees his shadowed form passing through the shelves and fading into the dark. He shakes his head to rid himself of a strange feeling, somewhere in the gooey parts of him, and climbs into the Jeep.

When he gets home, he finds his dad asleep on the couch with a movie playing on mute. He turns off the television, drags a blanket from the back of the couch, and drapes the blanket over his dad. He flicks the light switch and pads upstairs.

He empties his pockets onto his desk – wallet, paper ball, change, little bit of lint, keys, and the money from his first day. He sticks the folded bills in his savings jar but doesn’t bother counting it. His stomach is almost folded in half, he’s so hungry, so he sneaks around the kitchen practically in the dark making a huge plate of nachos, eats the whole thing, then passes out on his bed halfway through an episode of Avatar The Last Airbender.

He manages to work at _The Nook_ for an entire week before he pisses Derek off – which really is a record in Stiles’ book.

The night previous, he cleaned out his pockets like always but before he tossed the money into the jar, he actually stopped and counted it. Two fifties, three twenties, three tens, a five, and five ones – two hundred dollars for about eight and a half hours of work each day, most of which he spent lying down or fucking around on his phone. He eyed each of the folded stacks and took every one of them apart, realizing they were all the same amount.

Doing the math, he realized he’d been making about twenty four dollars an hour and nearly choked. He decided to talk to Derek about it the next day, not opposed to money but not doing nearly enough work to warrant that much money.

The next morning, he tries to bring it up to Derek who just rolls his eyes and starts walking toward the back as soon as he gets there.

“Derek, seriously, I’m not opposed to making money, but this is a little ridiculous dude. I’ve only worked here a week and I’ve made fourteen hundred dollars - that's like twenty-four dollars an hour. That’s crazy business!”

Derek only shrugs. “How much do you want?”

“No,” Stiles casts his eyes to the ceiling for strength, “you can’t just pay me whatever I want.”

Derek just stares at him, pale green eyes unfathomable. “Stiles,” he growls, stepping closer and suddenly Stiles is warm all over and _uh oh_ , “I pay whatever I want because I can and I don’t have time to deal with this. I have a commission that I’m working on. I’m paying you to deal with people so that I don’t have to. If you don’t want the money, I’ll find someone else who does. Do you want to keep your job?”

He stares and finally quirks an eyebrow, which Stiles has by now learned means “Answer me Stiles” and Stiles clears his throat and nods, not trusting himself to speak. Derek rolls his shoulders and walks away, heading towards the door.

Stiles stares after him, unsure how or what to feel. Except he thinks he already knows what’s going on. He’s felt it before, liked someone so intensely, just never so quickly, and jeez, has he really only known Derek Hale for a week? Only a week and he’s already so thoroughly twisted himself into Stiles’ brain and… and…

Slamming his head down on the desk doesn’t help, not that he expected it to.

“Fuck.”


	5. The Heart Is A Stupid Organ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! Look! An update!

Stiles finds out about the cameras at the end of his second week at _The Nook_ while he’s sweeping and encounters the wires. Any other person might be concerned about being watched or being caught doing bad things. The worst thing Stiles can recall doing in the time he’s worked there is the one afternoon when he’d been fully lying down on the counter, napping with his legs over the register ( _to deter thieves, of course_ ) and someone had to wake him up so they could buy a book. Derek hasn’t said anything yet, so he figures he’s probably all in the clear.

 Now that he knows they’re there though, he’s marginally more aware of his behaviors. Not that he’s suddenly super industrious or anything, he just doesn’t do all the little things you do when you think you’re alone.

 What he does start doing, either because he _likes_ Derek/his flirting style is pigtail-pulling or because he’s just an asshole, is start looking for the cleverly disguised cameras and deliberately acting a fool a.k.a. Operation Seduce Grumpy McPerfect Face.

 His nightly cleaning routine now contains music that he can _really_ dance to – he’s unsure if the cameras have sound, but if they do, _oh boy_ – with a thirty to forty-five second hip gyration every night. His belief is that if Derek can see how sexy he is, maybe he won’t feel so pathetic when he thinks of how sexy _Derek_ is… or something. He’s not really sweating logic at this point.

 He also really enjoys making signs and holding them up throughout the day.

 When he’s bored one Thursday, he finds a roll of butcher paper, rips off a piece, and scrawls _Do you only paint?_ followed by _I can see you as a charcoal kinda guy_.

 Saturday’s note is held up after one of the desperate soccer moms comes in to pant over Derek and sourly deals with Stiles instead. He looks up at the camera by the counter after she leaves and holds up _I don’t know how you deal with these people_ then _You don’t deserve to be leered at by strangers_ with _You’re a ~~nice~~ decent person _ then _I’m pretty sure you have feelings_ right after that.

 The next Monday, his signs are a continuous one-sided conversation that Derek probably would have to go back through the footage to fully read – if he’s even noticed what Stiles is doing. No guarantees, he’s a pretty focused guy.

  _Do you mind if I play music?_

_I hope not_

_I think I have fantastic taste_

_Most customers seem to like it_

_Not that I really give a shit_

_but I figure you might since it’s money_

_Or not_

_I don’t really know you_

_like at all_

_Which is strange_

_because I spend a lot of time here_

_with someone I don’t know_

_which is weird if you think about it_

_Just putting it out there_

_Just in case you care_

_my favorite color is red_

_oh and also green_

_just saying_

_so you know me a little better_

_I bet your favorite color is ochre or some shit_

_Pretentious artist_

_Your lack of reaction to this is getting boring_

_FYI this stool sucks_

_My back hurts_

_I’m going to lunch_

 Every day around noon or so, he locks the door, runs to _Goldie’s,_ snags a sandwich or soup, returns to the shop, unlocks the door with the spare key (on a key chain with a hand-sized black wolf plushie that Stiles couldn’t resist getting), and eats lying on the window seat either playing with his phone or reading.

 He’s trying not to be obvious that he looks forward to every morning and night interaction with Derek but _god does he look forward to it_ and in the past, he’s been _soooo_ obvious when he likes somebody – he’s pretty aware of his shortcomings – but he tries. He doesn’t want to make Derek uncomfortable.

 Derek always emerges from his studio with some of his art media somewhere on his person, whether it’s paint on his hands or in his hair, charcoal (Stiles _knew_ it) all over his hands and arms, or one time, clay of some sort under his nails. He doesn’t really smile at Stiles so much as not glare so severely at him anymore, which Stiles is counting as Derek at least not hating him.

 He takes great pleasure in telling Erica that Derek doesn’t seem to hate _him_ to which she just rolls her eyes and tells him once more to be careful.

 He also takes pleasure in thinking about Derek when he spends personal time with himself but that’s not something he’s comfortable telling Erica, especially since he knows she’d just give him the _god you poor pathetic creature_ eyes and he’d feel even worse about the whole thing than he already does.

 When he strolls through the door the last Saturday of the month, he stops and stares at what’s behind the counter. Because instead of the uncomfortable spinning stool, there is a tall chair with a high back, arm rests, and a cushioned seat all in a beautiful red with dark wood and silver metal accents.

 At lunch, he blows past Isaac and up the back stairs, bypassing the office and running straight into Erica’s apartment. He looks around for her, hears her in her voice in the bedroom, and walks in without knocking.

 He’s not expecting to see Boyd’s naked ass but hey, it’s certainly not the first ass he’s seen.

 He throws himself out of the room yelling, “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” and hears Erica yelling terrible things about him.

 Boyd’s exit is anticlimactic, face smooth and eyes more amused than angry. Dressed in a pair of sweatpants, he nods to Stiles with a smile and heads towards the kitchen. Stiles expects the fury-storm that is Erica as she wrenches the door open, wearing only a sheet and hair a tangled mess.

 “Stiles,” is all she has to say before he flees, ducking and rolling over the back of the couch and flinging himself out the door.

 “Genim Stilinski, you get your ass back here so I can fucking murder you!” She screeches, starting after him until Boyd catches her around the waist and kisses the side of her head. Stiles watches from the top of the stairs, panting, as Erica struggles for a few seconds before relaxing. She glares at him and just points, saying nothing.

 “I love you! I’m sorry!” He calls out and takes his leave. A sneaker almost hits him in the head but no one follows him.

 As he passes the counter, Isaac calls out, “If you hadn’t run by like a crazy person, I would have warned you.”

 His answer is a one finger salute and Isaac cackles.

 He’s not sure what to do. He was going to get Erica to help him, or at least yell at/belittle him, so he could at least develop a game plan or something. Does a chair mean anything? Does that mean that Derek likes him? Is he crazy for thinking that his employer buying a better chair for an employee means something? He _feels_ like he’s going crazy. He’s probably just going crazy. Okay, great pep talk, Stiles.

 Stiles starts getting to talk to Scott on the phone more, which is awesome. He lies fully on the counter – despite his nice, new chair – at some point each day and talks to Scott, laughing and making kissy noises when he talks about Cora, though he’s careful to never speak her name since he doesn’t know if Derek knows, which makes Scott flustered and adorable, so Stiles always tells him how cute he is. Every conversation ends with a ‘love you’ of some sort because they’re bros and Stiles is getting more comfortable with Scott not being there, but it’s still weird and he’s still a little lost without his bestie.

 Everything is going along smoothly until next Saturday, the first day of July, Stiles gets to work to find Derek scowling at the counter, which he hasn’t done in ages.

 “Hey, Derek. What’s up?” Stiles starts to walk behind the counter but Derek stops him.

 “You have the day off.” Derek looks uncomfortable and Stiles thinks _Oh shit._

 “Oh, uh, okay.” Stiles shifts from foot to foot, not sure if he should say anything.

 Derek huffs and says, “I have to deliver a piece and I’m going to be gone overnight. I’d rather just not have the store open.”

 Feeling relief rush over him, he smiles. “Yeah, it’s cool man.” Stiles waves as he heads out. “See you tomorrow.”

 Derek nods and picks at something on the counter, not even looking at Stiles as he leaves.

 If he’s honest with himself, it kinda hurts. Not that he as any reason to feel that way, but, hey, the heart is a stupid organ that makes the head look bad sometimes.

 He spends the day with his dad, who can’t be off on the 4th because he lets most of his deputies have time with their families, and they go fishing, which is a nice surprise that neither expected. They shoot the shit, drink some beer, catch nothing worth keeping, and head home when the sun sets, laughing and relaxed.

 The next day, when he gets into work, Derek is less scowly, which is nice, but he’s also smiling in a decidedly charming and flirty way at Marla, the new mail lady – who looks _great_ in her uniform, how the fuck does _that_ work – and Stiles thinks maybe that’s worse. Not only is Derek devastatingly handsome when he smiles, but he’s smiling at _Marla_ – which, Stiles is clearly not a woman and thus has a massive _pathetic_ crush on a guy who may not even be _interested_ in men.

 “Hey there.” He says cheerily, though the gnashing monster of jealousy is writhing in his stomach.

 Derek jumps and looks at Stiles like he didn’t realize Stiles was there. _Jeez, two for two_. “Stiles.” He says, tone stiff.

 Marla looks back and forth between them before smiling once more at Derek and patting his arm – _patting his arm?!_ She nods at Stiles as she leaves and he just looks hard at her retreating back.

 Derek starts towards the back door and Stiles huffs, loudly, which makes Derek falter in his stride for a moment before he keeps walking.

 Stiles doesn’t feel like making any signs that day. What he does do is text Scott **_moi: so I think I love derek help_**.

 Scott calls him seconds after he sends the message. “ _Stiles? Dude, are you okay?_ ”

 Stiles sighs, lying down on the counter. “I guess so? I don’t know.”

 Scott sounds hesitant as he asks, _“Is this like a Lydia-thing or a Malia-thing?”_

 Stiles doesn’t get mad because Lydia – freshman year of college – was pure infatuation with her brilliant mind and strawberry blonde curls and Malia – junior year – was purely physical with bouts of banter and Scott was with him through both. “Neither. Or both. I don’t know.” He rubs his face. “Who likes someone after only knowing them for only like _a month_?”

 Scott tuts at him. _“Don’t belittle your feelings. If you like him, you like him. Does he like you?”_

 “He doesn’t seem to _dislike_ me.” Stiles doesn’t even try to make it sound hopeful, his natural snark rising to the surface. “It’s just so pathetic.”

  _“It’s not pathetic, Stiles. If it’s how you feel, then it’s how you feel. It doesn’t mean it’s healthy for you emotionally, but sometimes feelings just happen.”_

 “God, I miss you, Scotty. You’re like, the only one that gets me.” Stiles throws his arm over his face. “Why are you so far away doing such cool things and living your dreams? Why can’t you be home with me so we can crash together after all night video games and wake up and eat cereal out of mixing bowls?”

  _“I know man, it’s hard. But that’s life.”_

 “I know, I know. I _want_ you to live your dreams. You’re perfect and you deserve the _best_ things. But I really miss you.” Stiles tries not to whine. He tries really, really hard.

  _“I know man. I’ll be home for the last two weeks of summer, though, so that’s not that bad.”_

 “I can _not_ wait to see you.” The front door of the shop opens and Stiles sees that it’s the weekly delivery person, Don – who is a nice man that has no intentions towards Derek so Stiles likes him – and sits up. “Delivery person’s here. I gotta go.”

  _“Alright, but I want you to think about something for me.”_ Scott’s tone is serious and Stiles knows he’s about to get a dose of reality, whether he wants it or not.

 “Sure, what is it?” He smiles at Don as he rolls in boxes.

  _“I repeat, you are allowed to feel however you want to feel. But, and I say this only because I love you, if you think he’s not interested in you, then let it go. You’re free to acknowledge that he’s attractive, but try not to think of him as a potential_ anything _other than your boss. That is, until I get home, because you totally need to quit your job to hang out with me because I’m important and I’ve missed you too.”_

 Stiles smiles at the last bit as he mulls over the advice. It would hurt less, he supposes, if he just squashed the thought of he and Derek together – eventually. In the meantime, it would hurt like hell. But he’s going back to college and starting something with someone would be foolish, if not pointless.

 “Okay, I’ll think about it.” He makes a kissy sound. “You’re my one and only, sweetie pie.”

 Scott says, in a feminine 20s-style accent, _“I bet you say that to all the gals.”_ They laugh and Scott says, _“I love you man.”_

 “Love you too.” Stiles hangs up and feels marginally better, like he may go back to lying down on the counter and moping, but only for an hour rather than the rest of the day.

 He takes the few boxes from Don, puts the ones with the green label from the art supply company Derek uses by the door to the studio, inventories and shelves the new books, and then goes to the window seat instead, choosing to at least mope where he can sunbathe.

 He decides, while sprawled with his eyes closed as the sun warms him through the window, that he’ll follow Scott’s advice. He’s gonna try to push everything down and let it fade. He eventually crawls off the bench and into an aisle, lying in between the shelves despondently and wallowing because he has to make adult choices. A tiny girl finds him there fifteen minutes later and asks for a book about princesses and also ninjas so he gets up and helps her. Her smile makes him feel the tiniest bit better, her sarcastic comments, even more so.

 That night’s cleaning routine is done with his headphones in instead of music blaring through the downstairs and there’s no dancing, sexy or otherwise. When he buzzes, he moves to wait by the door, takes the money from Derek without looking, says “Thanks,” and heads out, desperate to get home and face-plant into a plate of nachos so he can drown his sadness.

 The next morning, he walks into _Goldie’s_ , accepts his usual order from Erica who eyes him but lets him leave, and slumps in around eleven. He doesn’t look at Derek and he doesn’t speak, simply walks past and slides behind the counter, putting his coffee down and opening the book he’d put under the counter the day before.

 Derek doesn’t comment, just goes upstairs. He deals with a week of Stiles acting that way before he stops as he’s walking towards the door to the studio and throws his hands up. “What is your _problem_ , Stiles?”

 “I don’t have a problem.” Stiles crosses his arms over his chest and ignores the fact that he’s _clearly_ not been himself and Derek, while more than a little caught up in his work, has noticed because he’s apparently been paying attention. He also ignores that he’s stupid and the whole don’t-think-about-Derek-romantically thing isn’t working worth a fuck.

 “You _clearly_ have a problem. Something is wrong with you.” Derek growls. “You look like you haven’t slept and you’re quiet.”

 He feels his ire rising, partly at himself, partly at Derek, partly at the unfairness of the situation. “Nothing is wrong with me. And how would you know I’m quiet? We don’t say more than ten words to each other on any given day which is seriously strange as fuck!” _God, Stiles, real smooth. Act like a kid, this’ll_ really _win him._

 Derek glares at him, mouth working like he wants to say something, but he just storms back towards the door to upstairs.

 “Yeah, Derek! Run upstairs instead of communicating like a normal human being! Great!” Stiles yells after him. The only answer he gets is a door that slams harder than normal.

 “God _dammit_.” He throws the stack of sticky notes against the wall and it falls to the floor with an unsatisfying thump. He stares at it, chest heaving, unsure as to why he’s so furious, before someone clears their throat behind him.

 “What?” He snarls, whirling on a middle age man.

 “I’d like to buy this.” He waves the book a little bit, looking between Stiles and the back of the store with a raised eyebrow. A _particularly_ _judgy_ eyebrow.

 Stiles looks at him, blinking in disbelief, wondering when he decided that eyebrows were the enemy. Oh that’s right - he remembers. “You know what?” Stiles smiles sweetly. “I’ve just decided: because you can’t mind your own business, you don’t deserve to have a book.”

 “What? Are you kidding me?” The man looks pissed.

 That’s just fine. Stiles is pissed too. “Nope. You should know better than to have judgy eyebrows.” He leans over and plucks the book from the man’s hand, tossing it over his shoulder behind the counter and crossing his arms.

 “Judgy eye- what?!” The man slaps the counter. “I want to see your manager!”

 Stiles throws his hands in the air. “Well my _manager_ just left to _sulk_ like a _giant_ _CHILD!!_ ” Stiles waves his arms at the camera on top of the nearest bookshelf. He hears nothing from upstairs and he scowls.

 “This is ridiculous! This store is losing my business!” The man storms out.

 Stiles leans over the counter and shouts, “Good! We don’t want your stupid one-book-business!”

 He is frothing with anger. His natural response is to be an absolute dick to every person that comes in all day. Most people deal with his rudeness, though a couple of people decide to just leave.

 At the end of his shift, after he’s cleaned and counted the money and put the sticky note on the counter, he doesn’t bother pressing the buzzer to call Derek, just shouts, “I’m leaving! I’ll probably be back tomorrow! Or not! I’m not really sure since you’re a fricken’ brat and I didn’t sign up to work with a kindergartener!” He locks the door behind himself then puts the spare key through the mail slot, shoving savagely at the wolf plushie until it fits through the narrow opening.

 After getting home, he has the most furious jerk off session he’s ever had while thinking about Derek’s hands on him and Derek’s lips on his neck, how it would feel to have his stubble scraped his skin. It leaves him still furious but also a little heartbroken because… because he really likes Derek, despite how frustrating Derek is, or maybe he likes that Derek isn’t put off by his shitty attitude. Derek is attractive, yes, but he’s also talented and _funny_ , especially when doesn’t seem to mean to be and _goddammit_.

 He is in so much trouble.

 The next day, he wakes up with an anger hangover and he feels like total shit. He stumbles along, getting ready without really paying attention, and stands in the bathroom for a long time. He stares at himself in the mirror and debates if he should go in or not. Deciding he’s at least gonna make Derek fire him to his face, he heads over there, not stopping at _Goldie’s_ just in case he needs to go there for a frappuccino after he loses his job.

 He walks in, sees Derek standing at the counter, and almost turns around. But, being an adult, he squares his shoulders and walks up, sliding behind the counter beside Derek, prepping himself for the worst. As he does, he sees a woman approach – the one that often comes in on Saturdays to try and catch a glimpse of Derek in his white tank tops.

 “You.” She hisses, pointing at Stiles with a terrifyingly manicured nail. She turns to Derek and asks, “You’re the owner, right?”

 Stiles snorts. “Like you don’t know. You’re in here every week…” He stops before he says ‘stalking Derek like he’s a piece of meat and you’re a starving lioness’ because Derek is right next to him and he looks pissed as it is, “poking at stuff.” He finishes lamely.

 She glares at him and points again. “This. This sarcastic rudeness is what I want to talk to you about.” She draws herself up straight. “I was in here yesterday and when I asked when your next set of paintings would be out, he told me to go fuck myself and quit being a _creeper_.” She scoffs. “I can’t imagine you’d keep an employee like this around.”

 Stiles doesn’t look over but he can feel Derek look at him. Stiles looks down, ready to lose his job _again_ – hey, he made back all the money he’d spent on the Jeep and then some – but damn it’s frustrating and this time there’s _feelings oh god_.

 Derek doesn’t say anything for a minute then rumbles out, “ _Leave_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be out tomorrow bbys! Pinky promise.
> 
> <3 kisses


	6. All The Sense In The World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *flailing*

Derek doesn’t say anything for a minute then rumbles out, “ _Leave_.”

 Stiles sighs, starting to walk away. Derek’s hand snaps out and catches one of the pockets on his shorts, jerking him to a stop. He gapes at Derek, completely baffled.

 “Not you.” He doesn’t look at Stiles but his voice is soft for a moment before he looks at the woman and says louder, “ _You_.”

 She gapes like a fish and makes a sound like a wheezing frog. “What are you talking about? You’re really telling me to leave when I have a legitimate complaint-”

 Derek holds up a hand stained with green and blue oil paint and says, “I don’t want your business. You _are_ a creeper and I don’t deserve to be leered at by strangers.” The corner of his mouth quirks and Stiles feels a strange wave of _something_ rush through him as Derek finishes with, “I’m a decent person and I _do_ have feelings.”

 The woman makes another odd noise and tosses her hair. “I’m sure I don’t know _what_ you’re talking about.” She storms out, slamming the door behind her.

 Stiles feels like his heart is going _way_ too fast as he stares at Derek who watches the woman stomp her way down the sidewalk before turning and looking at Stiles.

 Stiles eloquently garbles, “Uhhwaahh?”

 Derek shrugs and then says, “I can’t fire you before your boyfriend gets home for the summer. That would make a terrible reunion.”

 Stiles is intensely grateful for a moment before incomprehension sweeps over him. “Boyfriend? Dude, _what_ boyfriend?”

 Derek frowns and sounds soft and unsure as he says, “Your boyfriend Scott? The one you talk to every day?”

 Stiles almost cries as he thinks back to all the conversations he’s had with Scott. The cameras _must_ have sound since he’s never spoken to Scott when Derek was around – and _mother of god the end of the night dancing oh fuck_ – and he’s said _I love you_ and _I miss you more than life_ in almost every conversation with Scott. Also, Derek has definitely been paying attention to his signs… which explains the sudden appearance of the new chair… and the conversation he’d just had with the rude woman.

 Stiles smiles and shakes his head. “Scott is my best friend. He’s also hopelessly straight and dating a really nice girl,” Stiles wonders if Cora’s mentioned Scott _at all_ when she’s spoken to Derek, “and though I’m bisexual, and I will love him forever, we will never be like _that_.”

 Derek’s eyebrows are doing something complicated that Stiles can’t interpret. “So when you were talking about me the other day,” Derek clears his throat and _fucking_ _blushes_ jesusfuckingchrist, “I mean, I’m not assuming you were talking about _me_ or anything, it just… seemed like you were…”

 Suddenly his conversation with Scott about Derek seems like a man talking to his boyfriend about someone liking him and Stiles remembers he’d said it was pathetic. “I was. I mean, not about you, uh… I wasn’t calling _you_ pathetic,” he explains in a rush, “I was calling _myself_ pathetic.”

 “Why would you call yourself pathetic if you were talking about me?” Derek is genuinely puzzled and Stiles feels like bashing his head against the counter.

 He thinks _you know what, fuck it_ and says, “I was calling myself pathetic for the massive crush I have on you.”

 Derek just stares at him, face blank.

 Aaannndd suddenly leaving seems like a pretty good idea. Before he can move, Derek says, “How can you like me after only knowing me for a month?” Stiles’ stomach clenches and he shrugs, feeling like an idiot at hearing his own logic reiterated. Derek clearly _doesn’t_ like him and he’s just being weird and he needs to go now before…

 Derek’s hand twitches, reminding them both that Derek’s fingers are still caught in Stiles’ pocket. They both look down at Derek’s hand then back at each other. Stiles darts his tongue out to wet his suddenly dry lips and Derek’s eyes drop, following the motion. Derek’s arm tightens, pulling on Stiles’ pocket and Stiles follows the motion, moving closer.

 “Stiles.” Derek’s voice is a soft puff of air between them.

 “Hmm?” Stiles can’t stop staring at Derek’s mouth.

 “Answer the question.”

 “What question?” Stiles thinks his voice may have taken on the dazed quality of his brain.

 The air is charged, almost thick, as Derek leans forward the smallest bit. “How can you like me after only knowing me for a month?”

 Stiles smiles, “I don’t know. It’s like, one day, it just made all the sense in the world.” And, _whoa_ , when did he get so deep? He’s almost proud of himself but he’s also a little worried that it was the wrong answer.

 And, nope, definitely the right answer because Derek closes the distance between them. His first kiss is almost hesitant, a soft press, but when Stiles pushes back, Derek wraps one large hand around Stiles’ hip and the other cups his jaw, thumb resting on his cheekbone, and kisses him like he’ll _die_ if they stop and _for the love of all that is holy_.

 Stiles can barely do more than grab fistfuls of Derek’s shirt, pulling them flush against each other which causes Derek to make this _ungodly_ sound in the back of his throat. Stiles moans and finds himself backed against the counter. The sound of the cash register pinging as they lean against it makes them pull apart, flush and laughing.

 Stiles’ heart almost stops and he must look some sort of way because Derek tilts his head and asks, “What is it?”

 Stiles shakes his head. “It’s nothing, it’s just…” He feels his cheeks heat up. “Oh, god, this is embarrassing. You just, uhm, you just look amazingly beautiful when you laugh.” He says the last part as fast as he can.

 He sees Derek trying to interpret the mash of sounds he’d just made. Derek smiles again and bites his lip, shyly looking down then back up before saying, “Thanks,” in an unsure voice.

 “Oh god, you are so fucking _adorable_.” Stiles pulls them back together, finding Derek’s lips and nipping at the bottom one softly.

 “That first day,” Derek gasps between kisses, “when you came in, I was _so mad_ ,” he presses close again, “because you were all grown up and so gorgeous,” _kisskiss_ , “and you looked so freaked out when you saw me,” _kiss_ , “and I doubted you even remembered me.”

 Stiles laughs. “Oh, I remembered you. You’d grown up a lot since I’d seen you last, that’s all.” Stiles cups his face and presses a firm kiss to his mouth. “And _good lord_ did you grow up nice too.”

 Derek surges forward, kissing him hard before he pulls back and leaves Stiles panting against the counter. “Wait, what? Where are you going?” Stiles demands as he leans over and watches Derek turn the Open sign over, flipping the lock before he turns back towards Stiles.

 “You’ve got the day off,” Derek states, reaching out and grabbing Stiles’ hand as he strides toward the door that leads upstairs.

 “So why am I going upstairs?” Stiles asks, unable to resist.

 Derek looks over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow as he says, “I didn’t say you could go home.”

 Stiles almost trips but Derek’s hold on his hand is steady and he keeps them walking. “So I’m finally gonna see your studio?” He follows Derek up the stairs, enjoying the view of Derek’s ass in his very tight jeans.

 “If you want to,” is Derek’s response. “I _have_ been thinking about you spread out on my drawing table.” Derek groans, “Which you only make worse when you run by the store _every morning_.”

 Luckily, they’re at the top of the stairs or Stiles would have definitely tripped that time and brought them both down. As it is, he’s stumbling as Derek turns and presses him against the artfully exposed brick wall and presses their bodies together once again.

 Derek moves his mouth over Stiles’ jaw, down his neck, and Stiles tightens his hands on Derek’s shoulders. His imagination hadn’t even come _close_ to how amazing Derek’s mouth feels on his skin.

 “You were awful before you found the cameras, always sprawling all over the place, following the sun through the shop like a cat. Then there’s the stretching and the _dancing_ ,” Derek murmurs as he drags his mouth over Stiles’ neck, “but you were absolutely _evil_ afterwards.” His voice is a growl as he skims his hands under the back of Stiles’ t-shirt. “You were doing it on purpose, weren’t you?”

 Stiles gasps, “Uh, y-yeah. I wondered if you were even paying attention or if you were just up here in an artistic daze.” He lets out a breathy moan as Derek’s mouth latches on to the base of his neck above his collarbone and sucks hard.

 “I was paying attention.” Derek’s hands tighten against Stiles’ back. “I couldn’t help myself – you are so _distracting_.”

 Stiles chuckles. “Mission accomplished.”

 “And very annoying,” Derek continues, but he’s smiling when he pulls back and drags Stiles further into his studio.

 “I won’t deny that.” Stiles grins, toeing off his Chucks as they move and realizing that Derek’s been barefoot this entire time. “I’m terrible.”

 Derek _smirks_ which makes Stiles’ knees weak. “Yes, you are.” He walks Stiles backward until his ass hits the edge of a table.

 Stiles hops up, brushing his hands out and scattering pencils as he reaches out with his feet and pulls Derek closer, penning him between his legs. “Is this the right table?”

 Derek sounds like he’s about to choke as he says, “ _Yes_ ,” and kisses Stiles again, hands running over his torso. He nudges him gently back and Stiles leans on his elbows, letting his legs hang loose as Derek’s fingers nimbly unfasten his belt. He pauses, thumb on the button, and looks up at Stiles. “Is this okay?”

 Stiles nods, murmurs, “Yes, please, _yes_ ,” and Derek doesn’t stop after that, popping the button open, drawing the zipper down. He pauses, startled as he sees that Stiles isn’t wearing any underwear. He quirks an eyebrow and Stiles has to laugh. “All my underwear is in the laundry. I didn’t expect to stay long today.”

 Derek rolls his eyes and hooks a stool with his foot, dragging it over and perching on it, bringing him level as he slides Stiles’ shorts all the way down. Stiles expects some hesitance or nerves, but it seems as if once Derek got the a-okay, he’s all smooth, confident game and _whoa hello_ he takes Stiles completely into his mouth in one fell motion, hands settled and holding secure on Stiles’ hips.

 As Derek begins to move his head, twisting and pressing his tongue against Stiles’ flesh, Stiles can barely do more than gasp and watch the beautiful man between his legs. Derek’s eyelashes are like fringes of black lace and, as he hollows his cheeks which feels _amazing_ , Stiles notes the sharpness of his cheekbones and the beautiful planes of his face.

 He reaches down with one hand, running his hand through Derek’s black hair and clenching lightly. Derek makes an encouraging sound that has Stiles’ toes curling from the vibration and he tightens his hold. It’s not long after that that Stiles taps his fingers against Derek’s cheek, trying to signal that he’s almost there but Derek just grows more enthusiastic, sucking deeper and harder and Stiles’ head drops back as it feels like his whole body explodes.

 When his vision clears, he lifts his head back up and Derek’s resting his forehead against Stiles’ hip, breathing heavy.

 “I’ll for you too,” Stiles mumbles with his typical post-orgasm mush-mouth, brain unable to string together a more fathomable sentence.

 Derek just huffs a laugh, his breath a hot rush against Stiles’ skin as he says, “Not necessary, but you can if you want.”

 Stiles can’t resist a laugh as he drops to his back and scoots forward, almost knocking Derek off the stool, which, damn the other man’s balance. He deliberately falls to the floor, pulling Derek down with him which makes the other man laugh as they scatter more art supplies.

 “You’re going to be so bad for my studio,” Derek groans as Stiles straddles him, pressing hard against the firmness in his jeans, yanking off his shirt and pulling at the hem of Derek’s, which he obligingly pulls over his head and throws somewhere.

 Stiles feels a thrill at the implication that he’ll around enough to be bad for the studio. “I certainly am.” Stiles hums as he kisses his way over Derek’s neck, down his chest and _glorious chest hair yes hello_ and down his stomach, dipping his tongue into Derek’s bellybutton which rewards him with a wriggle and an indignant sound – _duly noted, Derek Hale is ticklish_ – before he bites at the exposed curve of Derek’s hip.

 “By the way,” Derek says conversationally, as if Stiles isn’t unfastening his jeans and pushing his hand in to wrap around him, “my favorite color is green too, not ochre.”

 Stiles grins as he dips down, licking the tip and catching the salty taste there, rolling around the head with his tongue. Derek jerks so hard, he hits his head on the floor. Stiles pulls back, concerned. “Jeez, you gonna make it?” Derek nods, jerking his hips up to signal that Stiles should keep going.

 “This…” Derek gasps as Stiles takes him in slowly, licking and sucking every inch, “this is probably going to be, ungh, embarrassingly fassst. I haven’t been with anyone in a whileeemmmmm.” He reaches up and runs his fingers through Stiles’ hair and Stiles is glad he grew it out when Derek’s fingers tighten in it.

 Stiles just hums and keeps going, splaying one hand against Derek’s side to feel the clench of muscles there as he holds himself steady with the other one on Derek’s hip. When Derek gets close, his hips stutter and his hold on Stiles’ hair becomes hard. Stiles bears down, finishing Derek off with a deep pull of his mouth as wet heat hits the back of his throat. When Derek whimpers at the continued sensation, he leans back, stretching his arms above his head and enjoying how Derek reaches out to touch his side, even as he breathes heavily and smiles, eyes half-lidded.

 Later, they’re both lying on the floor among scattered sketchbook pages and other various detritus from the table. Derek’s snugged up on Stiles’ left side, right arm folded under his head as he trails his fingers over Stiles’ bare torso, tracing patterns that Stiles can’t see.

 Stiles lets his own free hand roam, running from Derek’s hip to his side, his shoulders, down his arm, then up his back, fingers cataloguing every inch of perfect muscle. His fingers find a ridge of raised scar tissue on Derek’s left shoulder blade and he makes a low inquiring noise.

 “From the fire,” is Derek’s soft reply as he mouths his way along Stiles’ jaw, not really kissing him, just pressing his open lips against the skin there.

 Stiles pulls back and just looks at Derek, mouth still a little swollen, hair a mess, which _whoops_ , that’s Stiles’ fault. Stiles just _looks_ at him for a moment, remembering what he overheard his dad saying about the fire and how thirteen year old Derek had tried to get inside to his family and almost died, before he quietly says, “Alright,” and lets Derek pull him close again.

 He isn’t sure how long they lay there, just breathing and tracing each other’s skin as the sunlight pours through the tall old windows, but eventually, his stomach growls. He looks down at it and catches Derek’s eye.

 “Hey there,” he says and he can feel how goofy his smile is.

 Derek’s is just as goofy as he says, “Hello,” and pushes up to his elbow, leaning in to kiss him. “I don’t have much, but I can make grilled cheese.”

 Stiles closes his eyes and moans, squeezing Derek’s arm, “Oh my god I love grilled cheese, you are perfect.”

 Derek laughs and pushes himself to his feet in a smooth motion, padding through an archway that probably leads to his bedroom since he returns with a pair of gym shorts slung low on his hips. He smiles at Stiles, still reclining among the art supplies on the floor, and walks to the small kitchen that looks very similar to Erica’s.

 Stiles basks in the sun for a few moments longer before he gets up, pulling on his pants but unable to locate his shirt, not that he’s really worried about finding it.

 They sit at the small bar, eating grilled cheeses and talking about nothing for a while, sometimes just smiling at each other. Derek ducks into his room and returns with a ridiculously soft gray short sleeved Henley with a smattering of black paint across the stomach. He hands it to Stiles who takes it and slips it over his head, grinning when he sees how pleased Derek is at him wearing his shirt.

 He pulls on his shoes and they amble downstairs, Derek not bothering to put a shirt on, still barefoot like before. Stiles’ phone vibrates and upon checking it, he sees two texts from Scott and a missed call from Erica, who refuses to text for some reason. He puts his phone back in his pocket as they stop in front of the front door.

 “So,” Derek says with a playful grin, sticking his hands in the pockets of his shorts which makes his beautiful muscles stand out even more, “you should know something.”

 “What?” Stiles can’t help the stupid smile on his face and _god_ he’s got it _bad_.

 “You’re fired.” Derek’s grin gets bigger as Stiles rolls his eyes.

 “That’s not how this is supposed to work.” Stiles waves his hand between them. “I’m supposed to have sex with the boss to _not_ get fired.” Derek shifts forward and Stiles tilts his head to kiss him, scratching lightly at his stubble before he leans back. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 Derek nods, stepping back as Stiles opens the door. “You know where to find me.”

 Stiles waves and heads toward _Goldie’s_ , ready to get his frappuccino, since he _did_ get fired after all.

 As he glances back through the window at Derek watching him leave, a sexy smirk on his face, he’s never been so glad to be fired in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stupid adorable idiots in love! YAY!!
> 
> FYI the next chapter is an epilogue - it'll be up tomorrow ^Z^
> 
> Let me know what you thought!!!
> 
> *kisses*


	7. All's Well That - Ah, You Get It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter w/ v. short epilogue! Yay!

**_scottyboy: Hey man, just checking in – everything going well with you?_ **

**_scottyboy: Also, mom told me to tell you to call your dad._ **

 

 **** **_moi: cool I’ll call him_ **

**_moi: and I got fired_ **

 

  ** _scottyboy: Dude! What the hell did he fire you for?!_**

**_scottyboy: Did he find out you liked him and freak out?_ **

**_scottyboy: I’m telling Cora._ **

 

 **** **_moi: oh my god dude chill out its all good_ **

**_moi: dont tell cora!_ **

**_moi: its a good thing_ **

 

 **** **_scottyboy: You know what, you’re right. It’s good that you don’t have to work there. It’ll help you be able to get over him._ **

**_scottyboy: I told Cora – sorry – and she says she’s really sorry and that her brother is an emotionally stunted idiot._ **

 

 **** **_moi: I love you and tell her I love her too_ **

**_moi: when are you coming home_ **

 

 **** **_scottyboy: We’ll be back in BH in a week and a half._ **

**_scottyboy: But you can call me any time you need to!_ **

**_scottyboy: She says she likes you a whole awful lot._ **

 

 **** **_moi: thanks I will_ **

**_moi: you complete me scotty mccall_ **

 

 **** **_scottyboy: I love you too man. Don’t let it get to you. I’ll be home soon._ **

 -----

 Erica takes one look at his blank face and sighs, starting to make a frappuccino before he even orders it. She puts extra whipped cream on it and hands it to him, leaning on the end of the counter as Isaac gives Stiles an oddly sympathetic look, wincing as he helps another customer.

 “He fired you, didn’t he?” She asks after a few moments of him slurping.

 Stiles sighs, “Yeah.”

 She pats his arm. “Well, fuck. Alright, I’ll hire you to clean out the storage area in back. I was thinking of making an outdoor seating area.” She taps her fingers for a second before adding, “Come by at noon on Saturday, have lunch, then we’ll start on it.”

 He nods. “That would be really great. Thanks ‘Rica.”

 She kisses him on the cheek as she presses a pastry bag that Isaac gives her into his hands. “I love you. I’ll see you then.”

 He nods and leaves, managing to get to his car and start driving home before he loses his shit and starts laughing like mad. He wonders how long he’ll be able to keep it to himself before he cracks.

 The next day, as he presses Derek against the door leading up to the studio and pulls at the button on his jeans, Derek asks breathlessly, “So you _do_ know why I fired you, right?”

 Stiles nips at Derek’s lip, soothing it with his tongue before replying, “I figured it was just good company policy? Also, have you _seen_ how bad I am at this job? I know by now you’ve watched all the footage. I really am an awful employee.”

 Derek rolls his eyes and huffs, “I want you to be here to come see _me_ , not because I’m paying you.”

 Stiles pulls back and smiles, running his thumb over Derek’s jaw. “Well I _am_ here to see you.” He glances around at the closed bookstore. “And, oh would you look at that, I’m recently unemployed! You know, due to being _fired_.” He wrinkles his nose. “I don’t have anywhere else to be.” His smile turns into a smirk as he finally gets Derek’s pants undone and hooks his fingers in the waistband of his underwear.

 Derek smiles back, clearly relieved, and opens the door, pulling them through. “Good.”

 Saturday, after he works at _Goldie’s_ , he shows up at _The Nook_ as the sun is going down, sweaty from working in the heat. He checks the shop for any customers, finds no one there, and locks the door behind him. When he clears the stairs and strolls into the studio, Derek’s eyes go dark upon seeing him mussed up and dirty. Stiles peels his damp shirt over his head in a slow tease.

 When he finally drops the sweaty cotton tee, Derek is all over him and Stiles reaps the benefits of his brilliant idea.

 “So…” He starts later as he reclines on the drawing table in his underwear and Derek sketches a few feet away, shifting his arms and head. There are lamps placed all over the space, casting shadows and creating a very peaceful atmosphere.

 Derek peeks from behind the easel and gives him evil-eye. “If you move again, I will hurt you.”

 Stiles grins wickedly and purrs, “Promise?”

 Derek rolls his eyes and starts drawing again. “Move back where you were.” Stiles obliges, looking up at the ceiling as he listens to the scratch of charcoal. “You were going to say something.” Derek reminds him after a few silent minutes.

 “Oh yeah.” He smirks and says, “I was thinking about the other day, when you were talking about me coming into the shop the first time.” Derek hums in understanding. “From what you said, I now assume that you had a crush on me when we were younger. I will accept no other answer.”

 Derek is quiet, which could mean anything, so Stiles gives him time to formulate a reply.

 When Derek does reply, his voice wavers from behind the easel. “Your mom was my tutor a couple days a week when I was thirteen, around the beginning of school.”

 Stiles stiffens, his mind racing as he thinks back and, yes, that does make sense and that explains why he’d remembered Cora too. She’d been with Derek’s mom a couple times when he got picked up after tutoring. The fire had happened when Derek was thirteen and his mom had died a year after, when Stiles was twelve, though that was after Peter Hale had flown in from New York and taken the remaining Hale siblings far away.

 “I remember you always coming in after you got out of school, sitting there and watching me while she reviewed the lesson and started dinner.”

 “You were so tall.” Stiles whispers, thinking of the Derek he could recall from that year. At first, a smiling, slightly shy eighth grader with those cute bunny teeth and big ears who didn’t seem to mind a lame sixth grader sliding up next to him to ask insipid questions when his mom looked away. But after the fire, those pretty eyes were haunted, the smiles gone and he’d only blinked blankly at Stiles when he’d tried to talk to him when he eventually returned to tutoring.

 “You were very kind to me. After.” The scratch of charcoal resumes. “I was so numb and I didn’t know what I was doing. Uncle Peter was busy handling everything with the insurance and the house and he insisted I try to go back to my studies.” He clears his throat. “I was… very sorry to hear that she died.”

 Stiles nods, chest tight. “It was rough.” He sniffs, clearing his own throat, and rolls his head toward Derek, who’s looking at him with his intense green eyes. “So you had a crush on the annoying kid of your tutor?”

 Derek smiles and starts sketching again, looking over Stiles’ body. “I thought you were interesting and adorable. You had such big eyes.”

 “Like Bambi.” Stiles snorts.

 “I liked your eyes. They were always bright and open so wide and you seemed so eager to learn everything about everything.” Derek laughs. “Do you remember when you asked me about kissing?”

 Stiles squints at him. “I never asked you about kissing.”

 “Yes you did.” Derek wrinkles his nose at him and says, “One of the girls at school dared Scott to kiss Callie Marshall and you were scared someone was going to dare you to kiss someone but you didn’t know how to kiss.”

 Stiles’ cheeks heat as he recalls the conversation. “Oh my god,” he moans, breaking the rules and covering his face with his hands, “I asked you to kiss me! I remember now! You _laughed_ at me!”

 He sat up and pointed accusingly at Derek who rose from his stool and walked over, running his hand up Stiles’ leg to his hip, thumb curving over the bone sticking out there. “I did.”

 Stiles frowns, narrowing his eyes. “Now that you’ve reminded me of something that I must have blocked out, due to sheer embarrassment, I’m still mad at you.”

 Derek trails the very tips of his fingers up over Stiles’ ribs, dancing over his collarbones and down his arms. “Are you?”

 “Ah-ahem, yes, I am.” Stiles shudders and pokes Derek in the shoulder. “Don’t think you can get out of this by being sexy. You were mean to me. I was a helpless hyperactive child and you were a big mean teenager.”

 Derek rolls his eyes. “I’m only two years older than you.” He pokes out his lower lip and Stiles makes a sound of pain.

 “Jeez, put that away!” Stiles squirms for a moment before he puts his arms around Derek’s neck, linking his fingers. “Fine. I forgive you for something you did like, eleven years ago.”

 “Thank you. You’re so gracious.” Derek places a kiss on the hinge of his jaw and he grins.

 “I know.” He puts a proper kiss on Derek’s lips and leans back, shooing him back to the stool. “Now, go back to drawing me like one of your French girls.”

 “Oh my god.” Derek rolls his eyes again and sits down, picking up the charcoal and Stiles resumes his position, smiling once more at the ceiling.

 “That’s what my degree is.” Stiles says a short time later.

 “Mmm, what is it?”

 “Teaching, like my mom. But I’m planning on working with younger kids. They appreciate you more, I think, than older kids, plus they find me hilarious. It’s an amazing ego boost to talk to them. I was thinking of getting a job at Beacon Hills Elementary.” Derek is silent and Stiles leans up on his elbows. Derek is staring at him. “Are you okay?”

 “You’re going to be a teacher?”

 “Yeah.” He shrugs, wondering why it matters so much.

 “That’s… uh…” Derek swallows hard and _oh_ , now Stiles gets it. _Somebody’s_ hot for teacher.

 He grins, lying down again, and teases, “I wear glasses too, you know. I can leave my contacts at home next time.” He looks over and bats his eyes.

 Derek smirks at him and asks mockingly, “Promise?”

 On Monday morning, they’re sprawled across Derek’s bed, his glasses on the bedside table, Derek kissing his way down Stiles’ spine, when Stiles starts to laugh to himself.

 “Mmm, what’s so funny?” Derek rasps his stubble along his skin and Stiles squirms.

 “Just wondering how long it’ll take everyone to realize how utterly okay I am with being fired.” Stiles stretches and reaches for his phone. “I gotta go soon. Working at Erica’s again today.”

 Derek frowns, almost pouting and mumbles, “You should have waited to tell everyone I fired you so you could still stay around all day.”

 Stiles leans back, carding his fingers through Derek’s hair. “I would have but I also would have to explain why I’m suddenly not downstairs at all.” He scratches the back of Derek’s head and adds, “And I _really_ enjoy being allowed upstairs.” He sighs and flutters his eyes. “Everyone will find out eventually. Let’s just enjoy being able to sequester ourselves while we can.”

 Derek bites gently at the tip of his nose and grins when he squawks. “Alright.”

 Stiles manages to extract himself from Derek’s bed, though it’s a terribly tempting sight as he’s getting dressed. Derek, sprawled, _sulking_ , all over the bed, face hidden under one of the incredibly cushy down pillows, silvery gray down comforter bunched under his chest and arms. He dips in one last time, nipping at Derek’s shoulder, before he slips his glasses on and leaves to the sound of Derek grumbling into the blankets.

 Erica hands him his frappuccino when he walks in, moving around the counter then pausing. She looks at him again and points to something. “What is that?”

 “What is what?” Stiles parrots, trying to deflect her pointed scrutiny.

 “That.” She presses down on his collar bone and he looks down to find a mark that distinctly resembles teeth on his shoulder. He curses the fact that he work a tank top to try and beat the heat when she hisses, “You _slept_ with _Derek_ , didn’t you?!”

 Stiles points at her and cries dramatically, “Hey hey! _Judger_! _You_ slept with _Boyd_!”

 She flaps her hands at him and hisses, “God, Stiles, keep it down! It’s bad enough that you walked in after, do you really need to shout about it?” She scowls over at Isaac who’s now grinning just as widely as Stiles. “Oh shut _up_ , Isaac.”

 “Why are you so happy?” Stiles asks, reaching the bottom of his drink and slurping up all the whipped cream, which is the best part in his humble opinion. Isaac goes to answer but gets caught up helping another customer and just grins to himself as he grinds the espresso.

 Erica rolls her eyes. “He’s happy because he just won the bet.”

 Stiles turns, his smile gone. “Oh, you _didn’t_.”

 She shrugs, utterly remorseless as she says, “We did. A lot of people were in on it. Your dad, for one.”

 “Oh my god!” He throws his hands in the air. “You people are monsters! You know how bad it is for me with jobs! I can’t believe you’d bet on when he’d fire me!” He shakes his head. “Never mind, what am I saying? Of course I can believe it. You’re _all_ terrible people!”

 Erica’s smirk is dark red and pitiless. “Guilty.”

 Stiles scowls. “So how did Isaac win? He bet I’d be fired in the right time frame?”

 She scoffs and glares at the blonde barista who’s full on beaming as he finishes the drink he’s working on. “Oh no, the little shit didn’t bet on the time frame. He bet that you’d only get fired because you and Derek would get together. Of course we all laughed at him but damn if he wasn’t right.”

 Stiles shoots Isaac finger-guns and a grin which he rolls his eyes at but he smiles. “Good call, Isaac.” He turns back to Erica.

 She’s frowning. “I never would have hired you if I realized you were sleeping with your old boss.”

 He grins cheekily. “I appreciate you giving me a job, though, darling.”

 She scoffs. “I’m barely paying you. I was trying to do you a favor.”

 He tilts his head and agrees, “I know. That’s why I haven’t been letting you pay me much. I made _way_ too much money when I worked for Derek. I’ve got my savings back and then some.” He leans against the counter in an exaggerated swoon. “Now that I don’t have to worry about money, I can laze around for the rest of the summer.”

 Erica snorts and says, “Stiles, I saw you when you were ‘working’,” she even makes the finger quotes, which, _rude_ , “and you were the worst employee I’d ever seen. You were _sleeping_ like eighty percent of the time I saw you there.”

 “Yep, I figured out the only reason he kept me around is because he was hot for my bod.” Stiles does a little sexy dance then ducks her swipe at him. “So do I get a cut of the money, since the bet was about me?”

 She laughs, right in his face, as Isaac says, “Hell no. You just said you made ridiculous amounts of money working for your boyfriend.”

 Stiles holds up his hands. “Fair enough.” He shrugs. “And I don’t think he’s my boyfriend?”

 Erica gives him another look and he squirms in discomfort before she says, “That sounds like something you need to figure out.” She slaps the counter. “But not right now. We’re getting planters.”

 “Planters?” Stiles asks, still half-distracted thinking about her comment and the implications as such.

 “Yes! Planters.” She wanders off towards the back and Stiles follows on autopilot.

 “I’m leaving in sixteen days.” Stiles blurts out the next day, startling Derek who looks at him like he’s crazy before he nods. “So what does that mean for,” he waves his hand back and forth between them, “this, us.”

 The corner of Derek’s mouth twitches and he shrugs one shoulder. “What do you want it to mean?”

 “Oh no,” Stiles hops off the counter, striding over to where Derek is painting in the sun – Stiles has already taken like a hundred pictures on his phone with the shutter on silent so Derek doesn’t realize how strange he’s being – and turns the chair around. “Don’t go all philosophical on me. Tell me what you want.”

 Derek looks up at him and gently places his palette and paint brush on the table next to him before he scoots forward to put Stiles between his legs, placing his color stained hands softly on Stiles’ hips, rubbing his thumbs up under the hem of his shirt to touch skin. “I want you.” He shrugs, like that’s enough of an answer to satisfy Stiles’ crazy brain.

 Which, well _maybe_ …

 “Me.” Stiles tries to keep the _you’ve-gotta-be-kidding-me_ tone out of his voice.

 Derek nods, looking like he’s trying not to smile, “You.”

 “So I go back to school and you stay here and I come back for holidays and we’re what, _boyfriends_? Lovers? Together?” Stiles can feel himself getting worked up.

 Derek rubs his hands over his hips, soothing him. “Hey.” He reaches up and tips Stiles’ chin so he’s looking down into Derek’s incredible eyes. “We’ll be whatever you us want to be. Or whatever you don’t want us to be. I like you Stiles, a lot.”

 “A lot?” Stiles asks, feeling a little less manic.

 Derek nods. “Yes, a lot. But I’m not going to try and get you to tie yourself to someone that you sort of just met and who you won’t get to see very often for the next year and a half.” He shrugs. “I mean, it will really suck if I don’t get to see you anymore but, if that’s what you want, I’ll enjoy the time we have for now and then say goodbye.”

 Stiles smooths his fingers over Derek’s eyebrows, the curve of his cheek, along his jaw, and bends down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Thank you.”

 “Of course.” Derek murmurs, moving his hands to Stiles’ lower back, holding him in place. “But since you _are_ leaving in sixteen days, we should definitely take advantage of the time we have.”

 Stiles grins and kisses him again. And again. And again.

 The next three days are used for “quality time” – Stiles tells his dad that he’s working and crashing at Erica’s. Stiles then calls in on Erica, promising to come by next week to help her finish her patio. She calls him an idiot, which he accepts as her approval.

 On Friday, he and Derek are so distracted with each other, they don’t notice the beep from the front door opening. Stiles hears the door at the top of the stairs open and taps Derek’s shoulder. He knows the front door was locked so no one should be coming in.

 “Hey Der! It’s me. I’ve got someone downstairs I want you to meet.” A female voice calls. Derek freezes, mid motion, and Stiles stares up at him, eyes wide. He recognizes that voice.

 “Fuck fuck fuck.” Derek breathes, pulling out and throwing the blanket over Stiles as he stumbles towards his pants, pulling them on and wincing. Stiles rolls himself off the far side of the bed and scuttles towards the bathroom.

 “Derek!” Stiles hears Cora call out and she sounds so happy and _oh fucking a – why today?!_ She’s in town which means…

 Of course Stiles’ phone starts going off _ofcourseitdoes_! He can hear it from where he’s pulling on a pair of shorts over Derek’s boxer briefs since he can’t find his own underwear. He peeks out of the bathroom and can see Derek’s bare back, triskele tattoo shifting as his back stiffens.

 His ringtone does nothing to hide whose phone is ringing, really. It’s a recording that he set for whenever Scott calls – one with Scott singing an _awful_  rendition of _Say My Name_ from their road trip home from school sophomore year. Stiles puts his head in his hands and counts to ten, trying not to let out the hysterical laugh that’s bubbling in his throat.

 “What is that?” He hears Cora ask.

 “Uh, not sure, it’s probably nothing.” Derek starts moving further from the bathroom and towards the stairs. “Who do you want me to meet?”

 “Derek, what’s going on? You’re acting really strange.” Cora’s voice is firm as she stops moving, pausing by one of the easels that Stiles knows has the charcoal of him from the other night and well, there’s _that_ cat out of the bag.

 Stiles sighs and exits the bathroom, coming up behind Derek and Cora as she looks at the drawing. “You and Scott were right, Derek’s really talented.”

 The siblings jump and spin to look at him. He smiles, hands in his pockets and says, “It’s nice to see you Cora.”

 She squeals and grabs him in a hug. “Oh my god! Stiles! It’s so good to see you!” Stiles laughs and hugs her back.

 Derek’s the one looking confused now. “Wait, how do you two know each other?”

 “Hey, Cora,” Scott appears at the top of the stairs and Cora pulls back from Stiles as he says, “I heard someone that I could have sworn – holy fuck! STILES!” He bellows and throws himself at his best friend.

 Stiles laughs, pounding Scott’s back. “Oh my god! I can’t believe you’re here!”

 Scott makes a high, happy sound. He pulls back, brow wrinkled, “Dude, why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

 “Ah! Yes, that’s what I want to know!” Cora states, finger in the air, and Stiles sees evil in her eyes.

 “What I’d like to know is how you all know each other.” Derek exclaims.

 Scott whirls on Derek, “So, you’re Cora’s brother. And also not wearing a shirt?”

 Derek frowns, the mantle of Scary Older Brother settling on his shoulders as he crosses his arms. He ignores the shirt comment and rumbles, “And you are?”

 “Scott McCall.” Scott’s eyes are flinty, his face hard and Stiles is silently begging him not to say anything about firing Stiles.

 “ _You’re_ Scott?” Derek’s mouth falls open a little bit, shooting Stiles a look that he can’t really decipher.

 “Wait! _You_ know about Scott?” Cora sounds a little afraid and her eyes dart between all of them.

 “Why wouldn’t I know about Scott? What I want to know is how _you_ know Scott?” Derek’s teeth are gritted as he grills his sister.

 “How _do_ you know about me?” Scott interjects, waving his hand.

 It takes them a moment, then they all turn to Stiles, who’s been completely silent, working on holding back that panic-stricken laugh bubble from before – Scott, perplexed; Cora, amused; Derek, irritated.

  _Oh god, think of something to diffuse the situation! Quick quick!_ “Derek and I are sleeping together.” He blurts out then slaps his hand over his mouth. _Oh yeah, Stiles, nailed it_!

 Derek facepalms and Scott looks like he’s going to have a coronary.

 Then Cora says in a bright voice, “So are Scott and I.”

 The expressions reverse.

 Stiles looks at Cora and grins, seeing his own merry sense of mischief mirrored back at him.

 This is going to be so much fun.

 -----

Stiles moves in with Derek after graduation. He teaches first grade at Beacon Hills Elementary and works at the bookshop on the weekends.

 “Works” – meaning he lounges around in his awesome chair, naps on the window seat, and lays on the counter and talks to Scott while he and Cora make plans for an animal rescue and rehabilitation center on Hale property near the nature preserve. In general, he’s a terrible employee.

 But, hey, it’s not like he can get fired this time, mostly because he’s not getting paid but also _also_!

 The boss is _in love with him_.

 Told him so an hour ago.

 So _there_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And his curse is broken!!!!!
> 
> Thank you so much for all the love I've gotten for this story! You guys are precious and I adore you.
> 
> I hope you liked it. Let me know!
> 
> *kisses*  
> ♡ Scotch


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